

• < f> 


a 







4 $ 


is 


I 


N 


0 


J 


I 


4 






I 4 

1 ^ 4 


A 


4 





I • 


f , 


f 



« 


4 : 


I 


• « 


f 


4 



k 


• • ^ 




\ 


% 




« 




I 


I 


/ 


i 

p , 


k 


f 




«• 


>U 




fi/ 


%•< 


l\‘v. ’ 


> ■ 

/ I 

>•„ 




j\ 


f I 




«(• 


>-. 


•t •• 


I < 


I <’ 







i. 




/• 


r j . 

* I 


i'* ‘.t"-’ -r ■ V A 


^’’i 

*• 

« a. 


I , 


t 


I 4 


!%" t 


i 


■A 

>’\v 


• t 


NV 


■;, 'd-i, 





ti 


i<r. 


A 


• » ■ ^ • 


* A } 

r* 

' '"i 






t 




3 ¥-3 

'ZTf 


MERRY GIRLS OF ENGLAND 


Works by the same Author, 


Red Rose and Tiger Lily 
Bashful Fifteen 
A Sweet Girl Graduate 
Polly, a New-Fashioned Girl 
A World of Girls . 

The Palace Beautiful . 
Beyond the Blue Mountains 
The Medicine Lady. 


3 6 
3 6 
3 6 
3 6 
3 6 
3 6 
5 o 
3 6 


CASSELL AND COMPANY, Limited, 
London, Paris M elbourtie. 


^ - 1:1;" ’■'fa I'f 






k '•■ f 'SB ''' 

r^'-' 



*T ♦ 


* V 

-•’ •■ r‘ ^ ■" . '-»J ». ■►•t'i'' -^- .ii 

v -x *' .* ' 'v • • i; 

J \..- T? — . ■ 

!,■*? *. . j|f#J|Bif*’*y .» :-v .vr':‘ ' ..-• X 




r^'T;' r .- 7 ; Aj^ ,, /. 

7 -*-'•' .7' - 

; ,>j V 

W •i” ^ **" ^** . '’‘7' -*- * . 

. : J'- 

* ■*• . , » . .^ J». ,n. 

_H ^ "teA .'’• 





_ 




■1 -i iV 
■ai*.]'- >-i4A 


« 



5 I * A \ ^ ■ *5* * . . <2At * 




’♦'‘A 






“‘oh, come here to me, BAB’” (/. lo) 


F'' Oliispiece 



Merry Girls of England 


^ JCL-C.- 

( L.) T. 


y 


BY 


/ 




MEADE 

7 




yv-vi- 

M 


..Ut 


AUTHOR OF A WORLD OF GIRLS,” “ A SWEET GIRL GRADUATE,” “ POLLY, 


WITH EIGHT ORIGINAL ILLUSTRATIONS BY 
W. S. STACEY 


> 1 .) » « > 3 J . ’ •>> > 3 * ^ 

3 33333 *• 3333 s,-* 33 3j 33 

3 3 3 3 3 33333333)) 3 

3 3 33)3 333333' 3 3) 3)3 3 


A. I. BRADLEY &.Co. 

234, CONGRESS STREET, BOSTON 

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 


ETC. 







L (o 6^ 

'>() ( 


> 1 . 


« C 4 • • 

r « « e « 

cc « • ^ • 

c c if* 

f < « c • 



C 

• « 

c 

€ 

c 

A 

€ 

€ 

c 

t 

c 

■ 

• 

• 

• *■ 

• 

• 

« 

• 


C 

m 

• 

e 

• 


« 

c 

« 

• « • 


t »*e 

t c ^ • 

« • V C € • 

€ « « • 




( < C 
c 
c c 

t 

C (- < 


* e 

f ( 





• • 
« 

• ^ 
e 
« 



3 




« 


I 

/ 


f . ■- 
> 


. 4 



CONTENTS 

CHAP. page 

I.— Cocoa and Swiss Milk 9 

II. — She Always Liked the Saffron Cakes . . 18 

III. — Miss Motley’s “Side Light” 23 

IV. — What Aunt Jane Said in her Letier. . . 34 

V. — The Heart of the Secret 45 

VI. — Princess Potentilla. .' 60 

VII. — Stolen Visits 78 

VIII. — The Nest Behind the Haystack . . . 92 

IX. — Bearding the Lioness 100 

X. — Tenant Mansions 108 

XI. — Doing a Wilful Deed 127 

XH. — The Letter at the End of the Rope . .133 

XHI. — Young Adventurers 137 

XIV. — Barbara’s Little Pin-pkicks of Conscience . 150 

XV.— Hero to the Rescue 158 

XVL— The Six Dogs 164 

XViL— Temptation 173 


XVH I. —Yielding 


182 


VI 


Contents. 


HAP. PAGE 

XIX. — Page Forty-eight 187 

XX.— Jefferson’s Mistake 193 

XXL— Like Father — Like Daughter .... 204 

XXII. — The Black Silk, the Grey Silk, and the 

Drawing-room in Eaton Square . . .213 

XX III.— To Meet Miss Clarkson 228 

XXIV.— The Leading Serial in The Palm Branch . 237 

XXV.— Two Runaways 248 

XXVL— “I May Even be Sent to Prison” . . . 256 

XXVII. — Page Forty-eight Once Again .... 260 

XXVIIL—“ All’s Well that Ends Well” . . . 275 


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


“ ‘ Oh, Come Here to Me, L>ab , 

“‘Where are you Going?’” 

“Rosamond Pulled a Rose” . . . . 

“‘The Door is Unlocked Now’” 

“‘I AM Annoyed — Deeply Annoyed’’’. 

“They all Made for Hero” 

“ Duke would Lie ... as if he were 
Stone Dead” 

“‘Hero . . . I am a Failure’” 


. F> ontispiece 
Faciw^ page 52 ' 

„ 83 

>7 j j 1 06 

131 ^ 

172 




,, 214 ^ 


5 > >> 


257 








fr?^, ’ ■ ap#w! 7 >^- rv :; M 

y, ^f'f.»i^asi ^ ,'v ;•: ■ ■ ■'■' •■ ' 'fin 

n.y.^ ^ ^ .,, , t» 

^■- ■ ■ ■ .; .' , ■; 



^ A' . 



• t 




i 


Vw'^'s? ♦ ' *• 



4 ' r ,’= ,Mt i 

I. : ', 


.' T? ''<* •‘“i 'Vii ' ■ 't* *‘*S " -i 


f >, 


^ -?—- ITT.** . ^ 


7 




Tr 


^«*r" "i 



> <rT 


5 ^ > 

i 


r. ■ 


r -■ k* 



J *4 




jsJ: ■^. il'^’ -vHr^:' 'fit^ 

.V :"V i' • m 

ilTf ■ ■? *i?R’ ■ tAF^TTi f f " 'V 



. 1 ' 


% 


■ » 


Uf . fU 





'.rr 


* < i 


:f '■ ‘^'^1 


y\ > 


7 



xW.i 


" r^y.'^vflS^ ,i i:ii^\ar>.iil^Mj';!i*ii/.i&A'it'^*W^Si^s! 






MERRY GIRLS OF ENGLAND 

CHAPTER I. 

COCOA AND SWISS MILK. 

It was a tempestuous March day, the dust flew in 
great clouds, the air was full of grits. The angry 
east wind had a riotous time, and the three girls who 
walked up the steep hill towards the end house in a 
neat terrace in the old-fashioned town of Charlton 
had difficulty in keeping on their hats, and their gay, 
fresh voices could scarcely be heard above the roar of 
the elements. The fact that they were being blown 
and buffeted about, that Barbara’s hat was being 
made sport of by the angry wind, that Clementcy’s 
long fair hair was beaten cruelly against her face, and 
that Ursula, the middle sister, was suffering keenly 
from the dust which blew into her eyes and throat, 
scarcely appeared to affect their spirits. There were 
small discomforts abroad certainly that afternoon, 
but the girls themselves did not mind them, being 
young and healthy. 

Barbara was nearly sixteen — a tall, slender maiden 
— showing a good deal of leg, somewhat big feet, long 
arms with rather ungainly hands, square shoulders, 
and a face full of determination and power. Ursula 
was thirteen and a half— a pretty girl, with a deter- 
mined chin. Clementcy was still the baby of the 
family, and her age was ten. 

The girls struggled and ran, for they knew that 
they were late for tea. To be late for this meal 


10 Merry Girls of England. 

meant a heinous offence in the eyes of Aunt Jane. 
It meant so grievous a fault that it required a salutary 
punishment. Punishment with Miss Jane Motley was 
always thought out carefully. She judged, perhaps 
wisely, that cause ought to be followed by effect. 
Hers was a very orderly house, punctuality at meals 
was essential. If the girls did not appreciate this fact 
it was her duty to make them do so ; if they did not 
care sufficiently for their bread and butter and tea 
(the bread was generally stale and the tea weak) let 
them do without. Miss Motley made this rule some 
years ago, and never yet to the knowledge of Barbara, 
Ursula, and Clementcy, had she been known to relax 
it. They were late this evening, and they knew well 
they were in for no tea and a good scolding. 

“ And I am so hungry,’' cried Ursula, “ I did npt 
have half enough dinner ; the mutton was underdone, 
and I could not eat it. I know too that that dreadful 
leg of mutton is going to be served up cold for supper ; 
it really is too bad.” 

“ Never mind,” answered Barbara ; “ whatever 
happens, don’t let us fret about it. Girls,” she added, 
flashing round her bright brown eyes on her sisters, 
“ I do enjoy being rebellious now and then.” 

“ It is not Aunt Jane I mind so much,” answered 
Clementcy, making her dancing steps keep time with 
her sisters, “ it is Rosamond ; I hate vexing Rosa- 
mond. If she would speak out and be cross, it would 
not trouble me a bit ; but she never does that, she just 
looks — you know how. I do love Rosie so much.” 

“You love Rosie so much,” echoed Ursula, “ then 
please don’t talk of that as if it were a virtue. You 
would just be the most ungrateful, unnatural little; 
heathen that ever breathed if you were not devoted 
to her. Where should we all be now without Rosa- 
mond, I should like to know ? ” 


Cocoa and Sw/ss Milk, 


II 


“ Well, we have got her, so we need not think of 
that unpleasant possibility,” said Barbara. “ She is 
there, always to the fore, always ready to comfort us, to 
sympathise with us, to fight our battles — such a dear 
old angel. I wonder, for my part, if she ever could 
be angry.” 

“ Yes, she could,” said Ursula, turning round in her 
eagerness to face her sisters. “ Once I saw her,” she 
continued, “ in an awful rage. Oh, it was a proper rage, 
of course, so you need not frown at me, Barbara, for 
beginning to tell. I would not tell tales of Rosa- 
mond for all the world. I love her just more than 
anybody, almost as much as if she were dear mother 
come back again, but once she was angry, and it was 
with Aunt Jane. I remember now it had something 
to do with a will.” 

“ Then you were a very bad girl to listen,” said 
Barbara. “ When Rose chose to give vent to her feel- 
ings she certainly did not wish for an auditor like 
yourself. I for one am not going to listen to your 
stories, so don’t begin. Oh, here we are home at last. 
How blown I feel, and untidy ! My eyes are full of grit 
and my throat quite parched ; what would I not give 
even for a cup of Aunt Jane’s weak tea ! Clementcy, 
just turn round quickly and give a look at the town 
clock. I am afraid to look myself. Oh, my heart 
goes pit-a-pat ; suppose it is really too late, suppose 
it is past the hour for that most essential and com- 
forting meal.” 

“ I am afraid you must bear up, Barbara,” said 
Ursula. “ Here, lean on me, my love. You will have 
no chance of your refreshing cup of weak tea, and 
your throat must go on smarting, for it is five minutes 
past five, and you know what Aunt Jane will say 
when Sarah tells her that we have all entered the 
house five minutes past the tea hour.” 


12 Merry Girls of England. 

“Well, I feel inclined to cry,” said Barbara. “I 
never wanted my tea more in all my life.” 

“ Nor I,” said Ursula. 

“ Nor I,” echoed Clementcy. 

“ And there is not a ghost of a hope, I suppose," 
said Ursula. 

“ Not the slightest," said Barbara. “ Don’t you re- 
member how severe Aunt Jane looked at dinner ? She 
complained of a headache too, and her face was paler 
than usual and her lips more tightly shut. Don’t 
we all know that mood, and how incorrigible she is 
when she is in it ? Even Rosamond can do nothing 
with her then. Yes, we must give up tea. Only five 
minutes late ! How near and yet how far that all- 
seductive meal appears under the circumstances ! ” 

“We must have tea," said Ursula suddenly. “I 
know what we can do. Have you got your purses in 
your pockets, girls ? " 

Clementcy ’s bright blue eyes opened wide at this 
sudden speech. 

“ Oh, Ursula," she cried, catching hold of her 
sister’s arm and beginning to dance up and down, 
“ you don’t mean " 

“Yes, I do," said Ursula, looking daringly back at 
the younger child. “ I am desperate, and desperate 
measures must be resorted to. In for a penny, in for 
a pound. We are five minutes late — oh, more by this 
time, six minutes, perhaps even seven, and we shall 
have no tea to-night, unless we provide it for our- 
selves. Now let us open the purses. Barbara, yours 
comes first, how much does it contain ? " 

“Very little, indeed," said Barbara, with a sigh. 
“ I spent two or three pence this morning on water- 
cress and seeds for my bullfinch. This represents 
my worldly all at the present moment, a sixpenny-bit 
and three halfpence.” 


Cocoa and Swiss Milk, 


13 


‘‘ Golloptious ! " cried Ursula. ‘‘What may not 
sevenpence-halfpenny do when dealt with properly ? 
Now for my purse. Good gracious ! I only possess a 
penny. I did not know I was so poverty-stricken. 
Clementcy, you are generally the rich one. How 
much does that neat little sealskin bag of yours hold ? ” 

“ A threepenny-bit with a hole through it/’ said 
Clementcy. “ But I do not want to part with my 
threepenny-bit, Ursula ; I have made up my mind 
to wear it with my gold watch and chain when I 
get them.” 

“You ridiculous child,” cried Barbara, “nobody 
wears watches with gold chains in these days, the com- 
bination is nearly as obsolete as Aunt Jane herself. 
When you do get a watch, Clementcy, you will have 
to wear it in a leather bracelet round your arm. How 
are you to manage to stick your threepenny-bit on to 
that ? Come, out with your spoil, love ; our united 
forces come to elevenpence-halfpenny. Now then, 
you — Ursula — run down that side street ; go to Jones 
the grocer, and purchase twopence-halfpenny worth 
of cocoa, and the smallest tin of Swiss milk that he 
sells. A halfpenny worth of sugar ought to do ; and 
all the rest of the funds I will lay out in buns. You, 
Clementcy, had better creep down the area steps, slip 
in by the back door, go softly upstairs, reach our 
darling attic, bring out the spirit lamp and the cups 
and saucers, and, in short, prepare for the grand meal. 
If we don’t drink hot cocoa as sweet as honey, and 
eat lots of buns, in spite of Aunt Jane, my name is 
not Barbara Underhill.” 

Clementcy, her face blazing with excitement, in- 
stantly did what she was told. It was very dangerous 
to have to pass so close to the kitchen. If the old 
cook, Joan, saw her she might complain to Aunt Jane. 
And if Aunt Jane knew, and if Rosamond by any 


14 


Merry Girls of England, 


chance found out ? If any of these things happened, 
Clementcy knew too well that there would be trouble. 
Still, the daring, delightful scheme was worth running 
a certain risk for. Hot sweet cocoa and unlimited 
fresh halfpenny buns were too fascinating to be 
lightly foregone. It was worth making a real effort to 
secure such delicious stolen pleasures. Clementcy’s 
heart beat high, but she resolved to run the gauntlet 
of the dreadful kitchen premises. To her relief the 
little girl found that the back door was on the latch, 
that the kitchen and passages downstairs were to all 
appearance empty ; she ran softly upstairs, passed the 
dreaded entrance hall, and by-and-by reached the 
large attic which she and Barbara and Ursula shared 
together. Having done so, she proceeded to lock the 
door, and then flung off her hat, and tossing her long 
hair out of her eyes she arranged the spirit lamp, and 
then began to wash up the dolls’ cups and saucers, 
out of which the cocoa would have to be drunk. 

By-and-by other steps were heard hurrying up 
the stairs, and Barbara and Ursula, very red in the 
faces, made their appearance. 

" We came in the back way,” said Barbara, and 
I assure you, Clementcy, we didn’t meet a soul. Where 
can Joan be, and Polly the kitchenmaid, and where 
can that staid old Sarah have hidden herself? As to 
Rosamond, you know she is generally just poking her 
head round the drawing-room door when we are the 
least bit late.” 

“Neither did I meet a soul,” said Ursula. “ The 
house was as quiet — as quiet as the grave, I was going 
say — but never mind anything about that now, let us 
set to work at once. I for one am more thirsty than 
ever, and my throat more full of grits. Ah, the 
water boils. Now then to get the tins of Swiss milk 
and cocoa open — I have got my little knife handy.” 


Cocoa and Swiss Milk, 


15 


Barbara flung off her hat, Clementcy unfastened 
her thick warm pelisse and dropped it conveniently on 
the nearest bed. A rickety small table was brought 
forward, the tiny cups were placed on it, a little cocoa 
was put into the bottom of each, then the Swiss milk 
judiciously added, then boiling water, the concoction 
stirred, and then the contents eagerly drunk off. Cup 
after cup of cocoa was made. The girls felt as if 
their thirst could never be slaked ; the remains of the 
Swiss milk was finally put upon the buns in lieu of 
butter, and they all enjoyed their impromptu meal 
thoroughly. Their spirits rose as they ate and 
drank, and they forgot to be as quiet as caution would 
have recommended. Clementcy, who was always the 
merriest of the party, had just given vent to a shrill, 
childish laugh, when the handle of the attic door was 
turned, and a sharp imperative knock was heard 
without. 

“ Unlock the door at once, young ladies," called 
Sarah’s voice from the landing. 

“ Oh dear ! what are we to do ? " said Ursula, turn- 
ing pale. “ Do, Clementcy, clear everything under one 
of the beds as fast as possible ; if Sarah goes down and 
tells Aunt Jane, the fat will be in the fire." 

“ You talk so vulgarly, Ursula," reproved her little 
sister, her blue eyes dancing. 

The knock came again outside and Sarah’s voice 
was heard a second time. 

“ Do open the door, young ladies." 

To Barbara’s surprise, it had not the usual angry 
note in it ; on the contrary, there was a thrill of a sort 
of terror running through it. 

“ Miss Barbara, are you within ? We did not know 
any of you young ladies had returned from your walk. 
Oh yes, I hear you, miss, in the room ; please come 
here this minute." 


1 6 Merry Girls of England, 

“ You must wait one moment, Bab," cried Ursula. 
“ Here, Clementcy, what are you staring at ? Do pull 
yourself together. Kick all those buns out of sight 
Here go the tins, and oh, all the cups and saucers. 
Everything has vanished under that convenient bed 
valance. Please see if there are any crumbs sticking 
to me. Yes, I am all right. Bab, let me brush you 
before you open the door." 

“ Miss Barbara, Miss Barbara ! " cried Sarah from 
without. 

“ I cannot keep her waiting any longer," said Bar- 
bara in a whisper. “ I am all right now. Don’t make 
such a fuss, Ursula." She marched to the door with a 
certain defiance and flung it open. 

Sarah was waiting outside, her face quite stained 
with tears ; there was also a shaken, terrified sort ot 
look round the corners of her lips. 

“ What in the world is the matter, Sarah ? " cried 
Barbara, staring as she saw these signs of emotion 
on the face of the staid, respectable-looking servant. 

What has upset you ? " 

“ Sally-in-our- Alley, has anything gone wrong ? ” 
asked Ursula in her pertest voice. But then she 
also saw Sarah’s face, and the little gibe died away 
on her lips. 

“You stay upstairs, Miss Ursula — and you too. 
Miss Clementcy," said the servant. “ Miss Barbara, 
Miss Rosamond wishes to see you at once in the 
drawing-room." 

“ Dear me, what can have happened ? " said Bar- 
bara. “ If Rose wants me, why does she not come up 
here.? And there, I declare, you are crying again. 
Is — is anything wrong ? " 

** Miss Rosamond will tell you, miss ; I can’t." 

“ Stay where you are, girls," called Barbara. She 
flew past Sarah and ran quickly downstairs. Her 


Cocoa and Swiss Milk. 


17 


knees seemed suddenly to give way under her, a 
heavy weight began to oppress her heart, and there 
was a sense of bewilderment in her usually clear little 
brain. Of course, something dreadful had occurred ; 
she had an awful momentary sensation of the incon- 
gruity of the situation. To pass from the merry, 
frivolous little scene in the attic bedroom to the 
solemnity of the drawing-room seemed to her quite 
out of keeping. What did Rosamond want with her, 
and why was Sarah crying ? She flung open the big 
door of the luxurious room, pushed aside the portiere 
curtain which shut away all draughts, and entered in 
her usually breathless fashion. 

Suppose Aunt Jane had found out about the 
stolen tea, suppose she was angry, hopelessly angry 
at last.? When Barbara, Ursula and Clementcy were 
more than usually naughty. Aunt Jane was wont to 
frighten them with a threat of sending them to a certain 
severe and impossible school. Suppose she had made 
up her mind to really send them there at last, and 
suppose Rosamond’s heart was broken at the thought 
of parting with her three rebellious young sisters? 
Oh dear, after all, the sweet cocoa and the nice fresh 
halfpenny buns would not be worth this. 

“ I know what I must do,” thought Barbara, “ I 
must just go on my knees to the old thing and beg her 
pardon in the most downright, humble way. Nothing 
shall induce me to part from Rosamond. I’ll promise 
to do without tea for a week, if that will satisfy Aunt 
Jane. But oh, how did she find out — how did she 
find out .? ” 

Barbara’s eyes looked quite large and defiant, and 
her face paler than usual as she suddenly confronted 
Rosamond at the other side of the drawing-room 
door. 

Rosamond was leaning against one of the curtained 


1 8 Merry Girls of England. 

recesses, her hands were clasped tightly together, her 
fair, sweet face wore a stunned expression. When 
Barbara’s sudden step was heard she gave a violent 
start, then she stretched out her arms. 

“ Oh, come here to me, Bab,” she called out, “ I 
want you so badly.” 

“.What is it, what is the matter ? ” cried Barbara. 

“ Hold me tight, Bab dear; perhaps I shall be able 
to realise it now that you are close to me. You were 
out when it happened, and on the whole I am glad. 
Oh, I shall never forget it” — here she shuddered — 
“but I am glad you were out, and that you did not 
see, and that Ursula and dear little Clementcy were 
spared the shock.” 

“ But what is it, Rosamond ? ” said Barbara. “ Do 
you know, you terrify me beyond words. Won’t you 
tell me what has really happened? Has Aunt Jane 
found out about us ? ” 

“About you, Bab? Have you done anything 
wrong, and now ? ” 

“ No, nothing really dreadful. But what is it? Is 
Aunt Jane awfully angry because we were late ?” 

“Aunt Jane will never be angry with you again,” 
said Rosamond. “ Barbara, she is dead.” 


CHAPTER II. 

SHE ALWAYS LIKED THE SAFFRON CAKES. 

When Rosamond said these words, all her self- 
control gave way. She leant suddenly up against her 
sister and burst into a terrible fit of sobs. Barbara 
stood, pale and brave, holding her in her arms. Bar- 
bara was nearly as tall as .Rosamond, and much morp 


She Always Liked the Saffron Cakes, ig 

strongly built. She shook herself now several times, 
and even stamped her foot in order to keep back her 
own tears. Not for the world would she give way, 
on account of Rosamond. Presently the elder girl 
was better ; she allowed Barbara to lead her to a chair, 
and began to talk. 

“ Bab, I will tell you exactly what happened." 

“Oh, don’t talk now if it is too much for you, 
Rosie." 

“ I shall be better when I have spoken about it a 
little. It was all so sudden, so unexpected. I am 
very glad you were all out of the house ; you might 
never have got over it." 

“ Well, I for one would have got over it just as well 
as you," said Barbara. “You know, Rosie, although 
I am younger than you in some ways, in others I 
am older and stronger. You poor darling, you look 
quite awful ; your lips are blue, and your eyes have 
such a startled expression in them. Unless it relieves 
you, pray don’t talk of it now ; but of course, if it 
does, I am quite willing to listen." 

“But are you not shocked yourself?" said Rosa- 
mond. “ Does not the news — the news that she — she 
has gone, make you sorry ? ’’ 

“ I must be frank or nothing," answered Barbara. 
“ At the present moment I am neither shocked nor 
sorry." 

“ That is because you are stunned, because you feel 
it too much.” 

“ Well, well, perhaps so. Now speak out, old dear 
if it relieves you," said Barbara. 

“I have not much to tell, after all,” answered 
Rosamond. “ She seemed quite well at dinner." 

“ We thought,” began Barbara ; then she stopped 
abruptly. It had never been any trouble to her to 
say unkind things of Aunt Jane, but now that she 
P 2 


20 Merry Girls of England. 

was dead, she seemed to have suddenly risen to a 
sort of eminence. Barbara felt deep down in her 
heart that she could never, even in the slightest degree, 
abuse her again. 

“ She was quite well at dinner,” continued Rosa- 
mond, not noticing her younger sister’s hesitation. “ I 
was so glad when I saw that she liked her food ; she 
quite enjoyed the pudding, don’t you remember? Well, 
afterwards, she said she would lay down on the sofa 
in her morning-room, and go to sleep, as she had a 
slight headache. I went away to write her letters 
for her. I was absent for over an hour ; at the end of 
that time I came in to fetch the address book. I 
trod quite softly, for I did not want to disturb 
her. I glanced at her as she lay on the sofa, 
and was pleased to see that she was so quiet. I 
thought she was taking such a nice nap. ‘ She will 
be really refreshed when she awakes,’ I said to 
myself, and I went down to the kitchen to ask 
Joan to make some hot cakes, those special saffron 
cakes which Aunt Jane has always been so fond of. 
Oh dear,” continued Rosamond, shuddering, “ I shall 
never be able to eat saffron cakes again, and Joan 
made them beautifully too.” 

“Well, do go on, Rosie,” said Barbara. “You need 
not cry so dreadfully hard just because you have 
thought of the cakes.” 

“ It is the little things that are so affecting,” 
said Rosamond, putting up her handkerchief to 
her eyes, and trying to stem the torrent of her 
tears. 

“Well, try and tell me the rest; how did you 
find out when — when zt happened ? ” 

“ It was not I fortunately, for I really do not know 
what I should have done ; it was Sarah. You know, 
at four o’clock Aunt Jane always had her tonic, and 


!^he Always Liked the Saffron Cakes. 21 

Sarah brought it to her as usual. She was still, to all 
appearances, very sound asleep, but Sarah thought 
she looked queer and she bent over her, and then of 
course she knew at once. Aunt Jane must have been 
dead for nearly an hour, for she was beginning to get 
cold. Oh, Bab, how awful it all is ! I do so wish I 
had never been unkind to her. Oh, how sorry the 
thought makes me now ! It was only yesterday that 
I answered her quite sharply, and this afternoon I felt 
vexed at having to stay in and write the letters, and 
now I can never do anything more for her again. 
Poor Aunt Jane, poor dear Aunt Jane ! ” 

Did you send for a doctor, and is she still in the 
morning-room .? ” asked Barbara, beginning to shudder 
herself for the first time. 

“ Of course, we sent for Dr. Haynes ; he said death 
was caused by apoplexy.” 

What is that ? ” 

“Something dreadful, but I don’t know much 
about it. They have taken her to her bedroom. Poor 
auntie, poor auntie ! I wish I could recall the past — 
I wish I could feel now that I had done more for 
her.” 

“ Well, Rosie,” said Barbara, standing up as she 
spoke, “ if that is all that is troubling you, pray dis- 
miss it from your mind ; you have simply been an 
angel to her. Now, if it was Ursula, or Clementcy, or 
I, we might have something to reproach ourselves 
with.” 

“ She always thought of you three as the children 
— it was on me she leant.” 

“ And I am sure you made yourself just a martyr. 
But there, we won’t talk of it any more.” 

“ No, darling, we won’t,” said Rosamond in her 
softest tone. 

She felt comforted by Barbara’s strong words, and 


22 Merry Girls of England. 

now she leant her pretty head on her younger sister’s 
shoulder. 

“ Rosie, have you had any tea 'i ” asked Barbara, 
who felt quite old and practical now that Rosa- 
mond for once had given way to natural weakness. 

“ Tea ! I could not touch it.” 

“ But you ought to take it — you never needed it 
more than you do this minute. I’ll run and get it 
for you.” 

“You have had no tea, either.” 

“ No, but we had cocoa. We were naughty, we 

were late for tea, and of course we thought Oh 

well, never mind that part now ; we had one of our 
secret cocoa parties up in the attic. We were enjoy- 
ing ourselves immensely when Sarah knocked at the 
door. It was a shock to see Sarah, and then I ran 
downstairs and found you. Oh dear, how merry we 
were in the attic ! ” 

“ Barbara, did not you love Aunt Jane at all } ” 

“ I don’t think so, not really,” said Barbara, looking 
across the room and wrinkling her heavy eyebrows. 
“ Of course, I am sorry she is dead,” she added 
abruptly, “ and I promise you faithfully. Rose, that I 
will never all the rest of my life say a word against 
her again — but just for this once I must speak my 
true mind. It was because she made you so pale and 
worked you so hard, and never, never once saw that 
you were just an angel too good to live, that made 
me hate her.” 

Don’t speak like that, Barbara,” said Rosamond ; 
“ you really torture me.” 

“ I won’t ; that is the last ugly thing I will ever 
say of poor auntie. Now, shall I run upstairs and 
tell the others } ” 

“I’ll go with you,” said Rose; “it comforts me to 
be near you. I never knew you were half so strong.” 


M/ss Motleys Side Lights 23 

The elder girl tottered to her feet and pushed 
back the hair from her flushed, tear-stained face. 

“ I think,” she added, as, helped by Barbara’s stout 
young arm, she went upstairs, “ I want Clementcy to 
kiss me more than anything else in all the world. 
Dear, darling Clementcy, our baby.” 

“ Well, she shall hug you to your heart’s content. 
Now here we are. Girls, I have brought Rose up- 
stairs, and she has something to tell you. Be very 
good to her, both of you. Clementcy, give her your 
very biggest of big hugs. I am going downstairs to 
fetch you up the very nicest cup of tea Joan can 
make, Rose,” 


CHAPTER III. 

MISS motley’s “side light.” 

Seven years before the events which have been 
related in the last chapter, there was a sad scene 
in a London lodging in a dull street. A dying 
woman was bidding her children good-bye. There 
were four children — the youngest three, the eldest 
twelve. 

“Rosamond,” said the mother, taking the elder 
girl’s slim hand in hers, “ you must go to my friend 
Miss Motley when I die.” 

“ Oh, mother, please don’t talk of dying,” said 
Rosamond. 

She was a pretty child, with a bright colour in her 
cheeks and lovely chestnut hair; the cheeks grew 
pale now, and the blue eyes filled with tears. A little 
dark girl who was seated on the bed spoke suddenly. 

“Do let mother talk, Rosie,” she whispered — 


^4 Merry Girls of England, 

here she fixed her own solemn brown eyes on her 
mother’s face. 

“Yes, mummy,” said Barbara, aged ten, “we will 
all do just what you wish.” 

“ Run away, Bab,” said the mother. “ Take Ursie 
and little Clementcy with you. I want to be alone 
with Rosie for a few moments.” 

Barbara got down off the bed, and taking the 
hands of her little sisters left the room. She felt 
very hungry and cold, and she did not at all like 
going away. 

“ I shall not live till the morning, Rose,” said the 
mother, the moment the door had closed behind the 
other children. “ Now that the time has really come, I 
am glad — but for the thought of you children, I should 
be very glad. I have fought up to the last moment, 
but there is no fight in me now. When I am gone, 
darling, you will find a letter in my trunk — there is a 
purse there also, with just enough money for your 
railway journey. I collected the money week by 
week, and I know there is just enough. My clothes 
and my other belongings must pay the rent which we 
owe to Miss Pearson, and of course the parish will 
manage the funeral. Don’t cry, Rose — God is very 
good, and something tells me that Miss Motley will 
look after you ; and as for me, I shall have rest now — 
and I am dreadfully tired.” 

“ But who is Miss Motley, mother ? I never heard 
of her.” 

“She was my old schoolmistress,” said Mrs. 
Underhill. “ I lived for several years with her — she 
educated me, and she was always most just and most 
kind ; she was a little severe now and then, but I did 
not mind that. I know she has plenty of money. If 
she will take you and look after you, you will all be 
well provided for. She is the sort of woman who 


M/ss Motley's “ Side Light': 


25 


always did her duty, and I have put the matter very 
plainly in my letter. The duty of looking after you 
four would not appeal to anyone else, but I think it 
will to her — at the worst, she will give you good 
advice.” 

“ Have you written to say that we are coming, 
mother } ” interrupted Rose. 

“ No, it is better to take her by surprise. You will 
find the letter in my trunk. Oh, I feel that it will be 
all right.” 

Rose stooped down and kissed her mother on her 
forehead. The dying woman closed her eyes and 
faintly smiled. Presently the other children crept 
into the room, and huddled on to the bed and stared 
at the grey face on the pillow. By-and-by they all 
dropped asleep, even Rosamond, who had vowed that 
she would not close an eye. Towards midnight Mrs. 
Underhill died. 

One week later the little sisters left the London 
lodging. Rosamond had the precious letter in her 
pocket. The children were not even in mourning; 
there was no money to buy any. The landlady got 
up early and went with them to Paddington Station. 
Here she took their third-class tickets and put them 
into a carriage, and told Rosamond to be sure to look 
out for Charlton when they came to it on the line. 

Charlton was the town where Miss Motley lived. 
It was situated about a hundred miles out of London, 
in the heart of a pretty country. 

The children reached Charlton between twelve 
and one o’clock. 

“ As we have no luggage,” said Rosamond, “ we 
need not go to the expense of a cab. Here, 
Clementcy, I’ll take your hand. Barbara, will you 
walk behind with Ursula ?” 

The four children left the station very sedately. 


26 


Merhv Girls or England. 


Rosamond felt quite old and wise — the present 
moment was so all-important that she did not even 
feel shy. She asked several people the way, and by- 
and-by the children found themselves in Eastman 
Terrace, where Miss Motley’s house was. It looked a 
very clean and grand house, and as they approached it 
Rosamond hesitated for the first time. 

“ I am dreadfully afraid Miss Motley is rich,” she 
said, turning round and looking at her sisters. 

“ Rich ! ” cried Barbara, “ I hope she is ; I hate 
poor people.” 

Rosamond hesitated again. 

“Well,” she said, “she can but refuse us, and I 
have mother’s letter in my pocket.” 

She walked boldly up the steps, followed by her 
little sisters. How spotless and white everything 
looked ; how shining the brass knocker on the door ! 
There was a queer little brass button also in the 
wall, with the word “ Press ” upon it ; it shone like 
a looking-glass. 

“ That is the bell,” cried Barbara ; “ they have 
those new sort of bells now in some of the London 
houses. I saw them when I was out walking lately ; 
here, I’ll press it.” She did so ; a sharp musical sound 
was instantly heard to go through the house ; an old 
woman with a crabbed, wrinkled face put out her head 
from the kitchen premises ; she drew it in again as 
quickly as a jack-in-the-box. Notwithstanding the 
solemnity of the occasion, 'Barbara felt inclined to 
laugh. Then the hall door was flung wide open, 
and a stately middle-aged servant stood before the 
children. 

“Is Miss Motley at home asked Rosamond. 

“Yes, miss,” answered the servant; she spoke 
respectfully, but her eager, curious eyes surveyed the 
little group from head to foot 


M/ss Motleys Side Light!' 27 

“ I want to see her, please,” said Rosamon d again. 

“ You cannot now, miss ; she is at dinner.” 

At the word “ dinner ” Clementcy raised her pretty 
blue eyes to the servant’s face. 

“ Clem vevy hungy^” she said. 

“ Perhaps you had better come in, miss,” said the 
maid to Rosamond. “ I will take you to a room, and 
let my mistress know that you are all here.” 

She opened the door of a sort of waiting-room 
to the left of the hall as she spoke. The children 
entered. The hall felt warm and delicious, and so did 
the waiting-room ; the house was well heated by 
hot-air pipes. 

“Will you give me your name, miss .^ ” said the 
maid to Rosamond. 

“ Please say that I am Rosamond Underhill, and 
that I have brought a letter from mother,” said the 
little girl. 

The maid withdrew, closing the door softly behind 

her. 

Clementcy crept close up to her elder sister and 
began to cry. Now and then she said, with a great 
gulp in her throat, “ Clem vevy hungy.” 

Rosamond took her in her arms and began to 
stroke her little flushed face. 

At the end of half an hour the servant came back. 
“ My mistress will see you, Miss Underhill,” she 
said, “but you had better leave the other young ladies 
here.” 

“ I would rather take them with me, please,” said 
Rosamond. She lifted Clementcy into her arms. 
Ursula clutched hold of Rosamond’s gown, Barbara 
followed in the rear. 

The maid, raising her brows in astonishment, 
crossed the hall, threw open the door of a big room, 
and motioned to the children to enter. 


28 


MEkkV GikLs OF England. 


A tall, very slender lady, dressed in dark grey, with 
iron-grey hair to match, and piercing, somewhat small 
black eyes, was standing at the further end of the 
room ; she was looking anxiously and in some wonder 
in the direction of the door. When she saw the four 
children she gave a perceptible gasp. Rosamond 
went straight up to her. 

** Are you Miss Motley ? ” she asked. 

‘‘ That is my name,” replied the lady. 

“ Then I have brought the children,” said Rosa- 
mond, “ and — and a letter from mother.” 

“ Mercy me ! ” exclaimed Miss Motley, “ stand 
back, please, little girl. You say you have a letter? ” 

Rosamond had to put Clementcy on the floor in 
order to find the letter ; she pulled it out of her pocket 
and presented it to Miss Motley. 

The room felt deliciously warm ; there was a lovely 
scent of flowers ; all of a sudden Rosamond felt a 
great lump in her throat; Clementcy began to cry 
softly, and to bury her little head in her sister’s dress. 
“ Clem vevy hungy,” she moaned. 

Miss Motley popped down as if she were shot into 
the nearest chair, and began to read the letter. 

When she had read it about half-way through, she 
raised her eyes and spoke in a brusque and apparently 
annoyed voice — 

“Don’t stare at me, children,” she said ; “ find chairs, 
do. Little girl, take that baby on your lap.” Here 
she gave Rosamond a glance which seemed to signify 
strong displeasure. 

“ Clem vevy hungy,” lisped poor Clementcy. 

“What is the child saying?” asked Miss Motley. 

“ She wants her dinner,” said Rosamond. “ She has 
had nothing to eat for some time ; but it does not 
matter,” she added. 

“Not matter! Of course it matters,” said Miss 


M/ss Motley's “ Side Light," 29 

Motley; “ I never heard of anything so inhuman in my 
life. Ring the bell, one of you, this minute.” 

Rosamond could not find it. Barbara, who was 
much quicker, made a dart in the right direction and 
gave the bell a violent press. 

The hasty summons was answered by the stately- 
looking servant. 

“ Sarah,” said Miss Motley, ** bring cake and a jug 
of milk here directly.” 

She then turned once more to her letter. She 
read the letter from beginning to end ; then, without 
uttering a syllable, put it into her pocket. The servant 
came in with the refreshments ; Miss Motley stood up 
and helped Clementcy to a great chunk of seed cake 
and a large cup of milk. The little girl ate hungrily. 
When two cups of milk were disposed of and two 
great hunks of cake, the lady of the house rang 
the bell. 

“ Take all these children into the dining-room, 
Sarah,” she said, “ and see that they have a right good 
meal ; when they are well attended to, come back 
to me.” 

“It must be all right,” muttered Rosamond to 
herself, as she crossed the wide hall, “ but I do wish — 
yes, I do ” 

“ What is it. Rose ? ” whispered Barbara. 

Rosamond shook her head. 

“ Nothing,” she answered. 

“ I know what you mean,” said Barbara again ; 
“ she is going to be kind, but she is going to be hard. 
I am not sure that I shall like to stay here.” 

“ Oh, do hush, Bab ; you’ll spoil all if anyone 
hears you.” 

Meanwhile Miss Motley was pacing up and down 
her drawing-room. 

“ I never was more startled in the whole course of 


30 Merry Girls of England, 

my life/’ she said aloud. “ Four children to arrive 
unexpectedly, and a letter from their poor mother 
asking me to adopt them ! Well, if a woman was 
ever struck of a heap, I surely am that one. The 
children have not the most remote claim on me. Of 
course I was fond of Ursula Maberley, she was my 
favourite pupil ; but if I did not warn her not to do 
the very thing she did, my name is not Jane Motley. 
Over and over I said to her, ‘ Whatever you do, Ursula, 
be careful you do not commit an imprudent marriage. 
Well, of course she did, and of course she had four 
children, and of course she died without a friend, and 
now the children belong to me ; a nice family for 
me to undertake all at once. Let me see ; of course 
I could refuse Ursula — of course I might keep the 
children for a night, and then — I don’t really see why 
I am called upon to do more ; still — yes, there is 
no doubt of it, this is a most important matter ; I 
won’t act on my own judgment.” 

Miss Motley approached the bell and rang it. 

Sarah answered the summons. 

“Sarah,” said Miss Motley, “the children who 
have just arrived will stay here until to-morrow 
morning.” 

“ Yes, madam. Where are they to sleep ? ” 

“ In the spare room, of course. Have a cot put up 
for the baby, and a small bed for the next girl ; the 
two elder ones can sleep together. Get Susan to light 
a fire at once, and have the room made thoroughly 
comfortable ; and now send Hopkins to me.” 

Hopkins was the gardener and general factotum. 
He appeared within the next ten minutes at the 
drawing-room door. When he did so, he was given 
a note to take immediately to the Rev. John 
Stapleton. 

“ Come to me at once, dear friend ; I am in a 


M/ss Motley's Side Light!' 31 

predicament. — Yours sincerely, Jane Motley,” were 
the brief words the note contained. 

“The vicar is the right person to consult in this 
emergency,” thought Miss Motley. 

Within half an hour Mr. Stapleton answered Miss 
Motley’s note in person. 

“ I knew you would come quickly,” she said ; 
“ this is excellent. Now just sit down ; I have 
something to consult you about.” 

She then told him from beginning to end the 
whole story of her friendship for Ursula Maber- 
ley. 

“ She was my old pupil,” she said ; “ a very pretty, 
impulsive sort of girl ; I was wonderfully fond of her.” 
Miss Motley then proceeded to give an account of 
the arrival of the children, of Clementcy’s hunger, of 
Rosamond’s motherly air, of Barbara’s impetuous 
face, of Ursula’s beauty. 

“ They are handsome children,” said Miss Motley 
in conclusion. “Not, of course, that looks matter. 
Beauty is deceitful ; I know that fact, as well as any- 
one, and I make it a rule never to spoil children. Of 
course, too, they are no relations of mine.” 

“ It is very kind of you to take them in,” said 
Mr. Stapleton. 

“ Do you think so ? ” she answered ; she gave him 
a curt and somewhat displeased glance. 

“ Of course,” she continued, “ I consider it my 
duty to consult you, for you are my spiritual pastor 
and master. I am supposed by most people to be a 
rich woman ; in reality, however, I shall have very 
little to leave after me when I die. To undertake the 
care and education of these children is an important 
matter, what do you advise ? ” 

“ You really wish for my advice } ” 

“Certainly, or I should UQt have sent for you.” 


32 Merry Girls of England, 

“Frankly, then, I think that you ought not to act 
on impulse.” 

“Do you.? You are a minister of the Gospel, 
remember ; I have a dim sort of memory of the Bible 

saying But I need not go into that. Will you 

have the goodness to read the letter which the little 
girl Rosamond presented to me to-day ? ” 

The clergyman read it carefully from beginning 
to end. It was a very pathetic letter, and in spite of 
himself a lump came into his throat. 

“Something certainly ought to be done for the 
poor children,” he said, “ and of course there are 
several institutions.” 

“You advise me, then, to consider the matter and 
to make inquiries about institutions where orphan 
children are received .? ” 

“ It would be wise, would it not ? ” 

“ Oh yes, it would be wise,” said Miss Motley, 
rising, “ but somehow it would not be my style ; it 
would not be at all the sort of thing that young 
mother expected when she wrote to me. I think I 
need not trouble you to wait any longer, Mr. Staple- 
ton. You are a minister of the Gospel, and it did just 
occur to me that you would tell me it was my mani- 
fest duty to receive these orphan children and do the 
best I could for them.” 

“My dear Miss Motley, if such is your conviction, of 
course that would be the best of all,” said Mr. Stapleton. 

“ I think so — it is a clear case of duty — not per- 
haps pleasant, for I am a fidgety old maid ; but when 
duty appears, one’s own personal likes and dislikes 
ought to vanish out of sight. You have doubtless 
many other visits to make, so don’t wait any longer, 
You have obliged me by coming, and I make it a rule 
in any great emergency never, to take a step without 
getting what. I. call A, side, light , on it ; you haye been ^ 


M/ss Motley's “ Side Light'' 33 

my side light, you have made my duty appear plain, 
and I am obliged to you.” 

A moment later Mr. Stapleton found himself out- 
side the door. He walked down the street with a 
curious sensation in his ears, as if someone had 
boxed them. He did not quite know himself why 
he deserved this treatment. 

Meanwhile Miss Motley sent for Rosamond. 

“ My dear,” she said, “ I have read your mother’s 
letter ; she wishes me to adopt you.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” said Rosamond, raising her eyes. 

“ You knew about this letter?” 

“Mother told me the night she died that she 
thought you would take us all in.” 

“ Did she indeed ? She must have been a woman 
of very great faith.” 

Rosamond said nothing, she only shifted uneasily 
from one foot to the other. 

“ She was right to have faith,” said Miss Motley ; 
“ she knew me well. When I see my duty I always 
endeavour to do it ; I am a hard woman, howevei, 
my dear, and never on any consideration pet children. 
You can go back to your sisters now.” 

Before twenty-four hours were over, the whole 
house in Eastman Terrace had undergone a meta- 
morphosis. A daily governess had been found and 
engaged to look after the little girls from nine to six 
every day. Certain 'rooms were devoted to them ; 
and before a week had passed, little Clementcy 
began to wonder if she had ever lived in any other 
house. 

Miss Motley was true to her word ; she adopted the 
children, and did the best she could for them. She got 
them mourning for their mother, aie attended to all 
their wants, but never on any occasion did she bestow 
upon them an affectionate word ; it was not her nature 
C 


34 


Merry Girls of England. 


to pet children. She saw to their health, and looked 
after their education, and there the matter ended. 

As Rosamond grew up she devoted more and more 
time to Aunt Jane, as Miss Motley had instructed the 
little girls to call her from the first. In her way, there- 
fore, and because her nature was most affectionate, 
Rosamond grew fond of the old lady ; but Barbara, 
Ursula, and Clementcy had very little love for the 
woman who had educated and supported them, and 
who now lay dead in the beautifully ordered and 
methodical house. 


CHAPTER IV. 

WHAT AUNT JANE SAID IN HER LETTER. 

On the day of the funeral the will was read. Miss 
Motley had only one relation. He was a barrister, 
living in London. He came down to Charlton to 
attend the funeral, and stayed afterwards to hear 
the reading of the will. By this he inherited two 
thousand pounds and the house in Eastman Terrace 
with the furniture. The four children were left one 
thousand pounds between them, and a life interest in a 
small farm, about twenty miles out of Charlton, which 
went by the name of The Gables. 

The girls in their black dresses stood close to 
each other while Mr. Johnson, the lawyer, read Miss 
Motley’s will aloud. It was a very short will, for there 
were no other legacies of any sort. Having finished 
it, he stepped forward and handed Rosamond a letter. 

“ This is from my late client,” he said. “ She asked 
me to deliver it to you after her death.” 

Rosamond received the letter with outward 


What Aunt Jane said in Her Letter. 35 

calmness ; she closed . her fingers over it, and only 
Barbara noticed that they shook. 

Then Mr. Motley came up to speak to the children. 
He had a kind voice and a gentle, gracious manner. 
He patted Ursula on her beautiful little head. 

“ Do you know,” he said, looking at Rosamond as 
he spoke, “ that, relation as I am, I feel like a kind of 
intruder. By all rights you are the real relations ; 
my aunt adopted you, and always spoke of you as if 
you were her own children. I wish it had not been 
necessary for her to leave me this money, but in 
reality she had no choice in the matter. The two 
thousand pounds with the house and furniture were to 
revert to me whenever she died, and I cannot give 
them up on account of my own children. The rest of 
her income was derived from an annuity, which ceases 
with her death. My dear girls, I am really puzzled to 
know how you are going to manage.” 

“ We shall manage all right,” answered Rosamond, 
speaking somewhat proudly. She could not bear 
Mr. Motley to feel that they expected him in any way 
to help them. “ A thousand pounds is a good deal 
of money,” she continued ; “ at least, it seems so 
to me.” 

“ It is very little money indeed,” said Mr. Motley. 
“ I don’t know how you four girls can possibly live 
on it. But there, I must catch my train now, and 
you had better consult Mr. Johnson. I shall ask 
Johnson to render you any assistance in his power. 
I wish you to understand also that if it is within my 
province to help you, I shall be only too delighted to 
do so.” 

Then he shook hands with the four girls and 
hurried away. 

Early the next morning the lawyer had a long 
interview with Rosamond. 

C 2 


36 Merry Girls of England. 

“Mr. Motley is much interested in you all,” he 
said. “ If he had not such a large family of his own, 
I have no doubt that he would really do something 
substantial ; but as it is, he is not rich, and the money 
he has received from his aunt is of some consequence 
to him. Still, he bid me to tell you that if he could 
really help in the matter of your education or any- 
thing of that sort ” 

“We don’t want any help,” interrupted Rosamond. 
“ Aunt Jane did a great deal for us. I am educated, 
after a fashion, and now we must all do the best we 
can. I was nineteen on my last birthday ; I am really 
quite old enough to support myself.” 

“ But can you do anything special } ” said the 
lawyer. “ I am told that this is the age for specialists; 
is there any one thing you can do better than any- 
body else } Have you been well educated 

“ I am sure I am not a specialist,” answered Rosa- 
mond, smiling ; “ and,” she added, still with that slow 
smile on her lips, “ I have been educated according to 
Aunt Jane’s ideas.” 

“ I see, I see,” interrupted the lawyer; “tch! tch ! 
What a pity ! Modern requirements are so exacting. 
It is my duty to tell you. Miss Underhill, that the sort 
of education you have received is practically useless — 
that is, from a teacher’s point of view. Governesses 
in these days must have certificates and all kinds of 
testimonials before they can expect to get situations 
worth having. Besides, I am given to understand 
that at the best the profession is much over-crowded. 
Then, even if you are educated after a fashion, there 
are your sisters. They are not grown up.” 

“ I know that,” answered Rosamond ; “ the three 
girls have been going to a High School, and, I think, 
were doing well — Barbara in particular. We must all 
keep together for the present,” she continued. 


What Aunt Jane saw In Her Letter. 37 

“That is just it — how are you to keep together? 
I can see by your manner that you have not the 
faintest idea what a very little money a thousand 
pounds represents. Of course, it would be very unwise 
for you to touch the capital, and T can only safely 
invest it for you at four per cent, even that being 
doubtful. Four per cent, means forty pounds per 
annum. Now four people cannot live on that 
sum.” 

“ But there is The Gables ; the farm brings in a 
rent, does it not ? ” 

I have been making inquiries about The Gables,” 
said Mr. Johnson. “ I find that it is a very small farm, 
and dreadfully out of repair. The house wants a 
great deal done to it ; the out-houses are in a shame- 
ful condition. The land has not been properly tilled 
for years. The fact is, the late tenant went bankrupt, 
and at the present moment the place is unlet. Of 
course, I shall try without any delay to let it again, 
but at the present rate of things I don’t expect we 
shall get more than sixty or seventy pounds a year, 
and a good deal of the rent at first must be expended 
in necessary repairs.” 

Rosamond’s eyes grew suddenly bright. 

“ Do you know,” she said, “ I am almost glad the 
farm is unlet. I think, Mr. Johnson,” she continued, 
“ that you must give me twenty-four hours to con- 
sider matters. I will then tell you if I have any plan 
to propose.” 

“ Well, my dear, you are a good girl, and seem to 
be endowed with plenty of common-sense — common- 
sense is a much rarer possession than people suppose. 
You have it, and I wish you well. I will call here 
to-morrow at twelve. Oh, by the way, Mr. Motley 
begged of me to say that he hoped you would not 
hurry out of the house. You are to keep the servants 


38 Merry Girls of England. 

and he will be answerable for all expenses for at least 
a fortnight.” 

“ Thank you,” replied Rosamond. 

The lawyer looked as if he would like to pat her 
on her shoulder, but, thinking better of it, shook 
hands with her and the next moment left the 
house. 

When he had done so, Rosamond went slowly 
upstairs to her own room. 

Barbara, Ursula, and Clementcy slept in the big 
cheerful attic which ran across the front part of the 
house, but Rosamond for several years now had occu- 
pied a little chamber close to Miss Motley. There 
was a door of communication between the big room 
and the little, and often at night Rosamond had gone 
gently into the old lady’s room to see if she wanted any- 
thing, or simply to kiss her and glide back again to her 
own small bed. It was at these times that Rosamond 
really found out something of what was in Miss Mot- 
ley’s heart, for the stern eyes would glisten and grow 
soft as they watched her, and the lips would curve 
into sweet smiles ; and sometimes the old voice would 
quite shake with suppressed emotion, for Miss Motley 
possessed one of those natures not so uncommon 
amongst a certain class of English women — she had a 
heart full of love, but had never the power to express 
it, except in deeds. Many and many a time the words 
trembled on her lips, “ Rosamond, I love you. God 
bless you, Rosamond, for all you are doing for me,” 
but never had these thoughts been spoken. Rosa- 
mond, however, possessed a great deal of intuition, and 
she understood the old lady far better than any of her 
sisters did. 

She now seated herself on the side of her little bed, 
and, taking Miss Motley’s letter out of her pocket, read 
it for the fourth time. 


What Aunt Jane sa/d in Her Letter. 39 

“ My dear Rosamond ” [it ran],— “ When you are reading 
this, I shall be no longer in the world. You have just reached 
womanhood, and are — for I have watched you carefully — a 
sensible and good girl. I have often longed to tell you how 
fond I am of you, and how much happiness you have brought 
into my life. Words, however, have not been given to me ; but 
when you read this, I hope you will understand. I now want to 
speak very plainly to you. You are not brilliant in any way. 
You have no talent sufficiently remarkable to induce me to 
waste much money on your education. You are fairly well 
taught, but you are not educated according to the standard of 
the present day. My dear girl, from the time I adopted you 
and your sisters it has been my secret grief that I could not 
leave you, whenever I died, at all well provided for. Before you 
came to me I had sunk the greater part of my capital in an 
annuity. When you and your sisters arrived, it was impossible 
to alter the state of affairs. All I can leave you is one thousand 
pounds in cash, which I have saved year by year from my 
income, and the life interest in a small farm of the name of The 
Gables. Now, my dear girl, you know very little about money. 
It is true that you are nineteen, but since your mother’s death 
the rough things of life have not touched you ; and although I 
have been far from well lately, I have always been able to 
manage my own money affairs. You may in your innocence 
think it quite possible to live on the sum of money which you 
are left, but please don’t harbour this idea for a moment. The 
thing cannot be done. You cannot even feed yourselves on 
the small income which one thousand pounds will produce. 
Now, as to your capital, I am not going to bind you to any hard- 
and-fast rule in the matter. I wish you clearly to understand 
that you four girls are to have this sum of money unreservedly. 
There is to be no waiting until you come of age. Mr. Johnson 
will keep the money for you, but he is to hand it over to you by 
my instructions whenever you ask him. The money is equally 
divided between you ; you can all have the advantage of it, or 
you can each have your fourth— namely, two hundred and fifty 
pounds. My advice to you is to touch very little of the capital, 
and to supplement the income if possible; then you will have 
something to fall back upon when the proverbial rainy day 
comes. If you ask Mr. Johnson, he will give you the best 
advice, and I hope sincerely you will consult him. 

“ Now, I will make a suggestion which may appeal to you, 
and if you think you can safely carry it out, it is, in my opinion. 


Merkv Girls of England. 



likely that you will do well. I have left you not only a thousand 
pounds, but the life interest in a small farm. The farm consists 
of twenty acres of land ; there is a cottage on the farm and 
several farm buildings at the back of the house. Now why 
should not you and your sisters live at The Gables, and stock 
the farm from a certain portion of your capital.? You might 
spend very little money at first, and Mr. Johnson would help 
you to find a trustworthy man who would give you advice and 
a certain amount of assistance until you had learned the rudi- 
ments of farming. There are plenty of books on the subject ; 
but, of course, advice from a modern farmer would be more 
valuable to you than anything which you learned from a mere 
book. You are all four young and strong, and life in the 
country would be splendid for your health. The farm produce 
would largely keep you in food ; and if you sold eggs, really 
fresh eggs, and presently went in for a little dairy-farming, you 
would in all probability add to your income, and make the 
thing pay. Think this over, my dear. 

“Yours affectionately, 

“Jane Motley.” 

This common-sense letter, without a scrap of 
sentiment in it from first to last, had almost be- 
wildered poor Rosamond the first time she read it. 
She was a reserved sort of girl, and seldom acted 
on impulse. She therefore said nothing about Miss 
Motley’s letter to her sisters on the previous evening ; 
but at night, when she got into her little bed and 
tried to close her eyes, the thought of h^r old friend’s 
suggestion came back to her again and again. 

Rosamond was nothing if she was not practical ; 
and the more she considered the idea of the farm 
life, the more it seemed to appeal to her. 

“ I have a great mind to try it,” she said to her- 
self. “ In the first place, it seems the only sensible 
thing to do, for we really cannot live on forty pounds 
a year; in the second, it would be good fbr our 
health, and would keep us- all together ; in the third, 
there is a possibility of its succeeding and giving us 


What Aunt Janb said in Her Letter. 41 

enough money to live in comfort. It is true, of course, 
that I know nothing whatever about farming. I have 
lived all my life in town ; but I am young and 
can learn. We might begin by keeping chickens and 
selling eggs, and then by-and-by go on to keeping 
a dairy and selling milk and butter.” 

These thoughts mingled with Rosamond’s dreams. 
On the next morning the idea of the farm life re- 
turned to her like a strong, refreshing tonic ; but 
up to the present she had not breathed a word of 
the subject to any of her sisters. 

Now, having read the letter for the fourth time, 
she went downstairs. Barbara was seated in a deep 
arm-chair in the drawing-room, devouring a book. 

“ Well, Rosamond,” said Barbara, as her sister came 
in, “ have the secret confabs come to an end ? Do 
you know, nothing irritates me more than the feeling 
that secrets are going on in the house. What a long 
conversation you had with Mr. Johnson ! And then, 
instead of coming to us, you ran away — I suppose, 
for a confab with yourself. Now what does it all 
mean ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Ursula, who ran in at this moment, 
“what is to become of us all, Rosie? I saw Sarah 
crying just now, and she says she is so sorry for us, 
for we are going to be awfully, dreadfully poor.” 

“Just as poor,” said Clementcy, who had followed 
her sister into the room, with her blue eyes very wide 
open, “just as poor as when mother was alive. Ursie 
says — for she remembers it, but I don’t — that we did 
not even have enough fires when mother was alive.” 

“ I don’t think there is any necessity for us to be 
cold again,” said Rosamond. 

“ You look quite excited. Rose,” said Barbara ; 
“ have you any plan to propose ? ” 

“ Yes, I have — a wonderful plan — I want to talk 


42 Merry Girls of England. 

it over with all of you. Don’t you remember that 
Aunt Jane left me a letter? ” 

“ Don’t I remember ? ” said Barbara ; “ I should 
think I do. Have not I for the last twenty-four hours 
been dying with curiosity to know what the letter 
contained ? Out with the news, Rose. I do sincerely 
hope it is something cheerful ; I am so sick of 
gloom and drawn-down blinds, and people talking in 
whispers. Perhaps, Rose, your news is that Aunt Jane 
has hidden away a lot of money in a jar, or jam-pot, 
or something. In story-books old ladies often store 
away money in out-of-the-way corners. Is there a 
secret in that letter which the lawyer is not to know, 
nor that tiresome, stiff Mr. Motley?” 

“ No secret of that kind,” said Rosamond, shaking 
her head ; “ only just a piece of valuable advice.” 

“ Oh, advice ! ” said Ursula, curling her pretty lips ; 
“ I hate that sort of thing.” 

“ Well, I doubt if you will hate this when I tell 
you about it ; but now I really won’t say a word more 
until after tea. I am dying for my tea, and here 
comes Sarah with the tea-things.” 

Sarah pulled out the pretty little round table 
which Miss Motley had used during her lifetime ; on 
it she put a white cloth embroidered with marguerites, 
and then the tea service. Next tea, cream, cake, and 
bread-and-butter made their appearance. A bright 
fire burned merrily in the grate — the day was a sunny 
one, towards the end of March. The blinds were up, 
and the cheerful light streamed into the pretty room. 
Clementcy began to laugh when she saw the tea, and 
Ursula looked around her with a sigh of relief. 

“ I cannot help fancying,” she said suddenly, 
“that any moment the door will open and Aunt Jane 
will come in. You know, Clementcy, how she would 
look, don’t you? with that soft white shawl on, her 


What Aunt Jane said in Her Letter. 43 

face very pale, and her eyes kind, but her lips a 
little stiff. Oh,” she added, breaking off abruptly, 
“why, Sarah has brought us fresh bread. Aunt Jane 
would never allow that, would she ? ” 

“ Now eat, and don’t talk so much,’' said Rosa- 
mond, drawing a chair forward for her little sister. 
“I wish, Ursula,” she added, “you would try to 
understand how really, really good Aunt Jane was to 
us all.” 

“ I know, but I was always afraid of her,” said 
Ursula with a shiver ; “ I could not help it, Rosie.” 

“ She was very, very good,” said Rosamond. “ I 
don’t know where any of us would have been but for 
her. It was not her nature to pet anyone, nor to say 
loving words, but she had a great, good, kind heart. 
I cannot help fancying that by this time she has met 
mother up in heaven, and mother has thanked her for 
her goodness to her children.” 

The three other girls looked intently at Rosamond 
when she spoke. Ursula gave vent to a sigh, and 
Clementcy helped herself to another piece of bread- 
and-butter. 

“ I for one,” said Bab, “ feel dreadfully inclined to 
laugh. Would it shock your feelings, Rosamond, if I 
were to indulge the horrid risible sensation which is 
tickling my throat just now ? ” 

Rosamond did not speak. 

“ Oh dear!” continued Barbara, “please, Clementcy, 
pass the cake. How oppressing the last week has 
been I There have been moments when I have not 
dared to listen to the sound of my own voice. You 
know, I could not drop it to a whisper, like the rest of 
you ; and now — perhaps it is the sunshine outside, or 
— or the reaction, but I just don’t feel as if I could be 
miserable a moment longer.” 

“Aunt Jane does not wish you to be miserable,” 


44 


Merry Girls of England. 


said Rosamond. “ Now do finish your tea ; we have 
a lot to consult about afterwards.” 

“ I am glad to know it ; the inertia of the last 
week has been not the least trying part about it. Do 
you know, Rose, you are looking so solemn, and you 
have primmed up your mouth in such an extra- 
ordinary way, that I still am firmly convinced Aunt 
Jane has left us remarkably well off.” 

“And you are right,” said Rosamond suddenly, 
“only she has not left us well off in the way you 
mean.” 

Barbara sprang impatiently to her feet. 

“Ursula and Clementcy,” she said, ^^for goodness 
sake, do be as quick as ever you can gobbling up your 
bread-and-butter and cake. I see by Rose’s face that 
there is something most interesting to follow. As for 
me, I have had enough to eat” 

She ran to the French window as she spoke and 
flung it open. Outside there was a beautifully kept 
garden with a smooth lawn. Barbara stepped out and 
began walking up and down. There was a cold wind 
blowing, but she did not feel it ; the March sunshine 
was falling all over her. She caught up a tennis ball 
which had been left on the grass unnoticed from last 
year’s tennis, and began to toss it about, catching it 
from one hand to the other. Some neighbours in an 
opposite house saw her, and remarked one to the other 
on her want of heart. Barbara saw an elderly face 
glancing at her from one of the windows with a look 
of strong disapproval. Out of a spirit of defiance she 
tossed the ball more violently and more recklessly 
than ever. Presently Rosamond called her. She 
found the tea-things had been removed, and that the 
moment had arrived when the secret which the letter 
contained was to be revealed. 


CHAPTER V. 


THE HEART OF THE SECRET. 

Barbara hurried into the drawing-room, closed 
the French window, and went straight to Rosamond’s 
side. 

“ Now,” she said, “ be quick about it ; what is the 
news ? ” 

Ursula and Clementcy had seated themselves close 
to their sister ; Rosamond made room for Barbara at 
her other side. 

“If you like,” she said, “I will read Aunt Jane’s 
letter aloud.” 

The three girls glanced at each other with dubious 
expressions. 

“ The letter is sure to be very long,” said Barbara, 
“ could you not tell us the principal part ^ ” 

“Very well, I will,” answered Rosamond. “Now” 
do listen all of you, and please, Clementcy, don’t fidget. 
Aunt Jane thougnt of us all ; she could not leave us 
more money than she has done.” 

“ A thousand pounds is heaps of money ; I am 
not complaining about that,” interrupted Barbara. 

“ That is just the point, Bab,” said Rosamond. “ In 
reality, a thousand pounds is not near enough — that 
is, unless we all make up our minds to live on the 
capital, which would be, as Mr. Johnson says, very 
silly. The income of a thousand pounds might pro- 
duce forty pounds a year. On that we cannot live. 
Even I, who know little or nothing about money, can 
see that.” 


46 


Merry Girls of England, 


‘‘Well, but there is a farm somewhere,” said 
Ursula, “ a farm with a pretty name — The Gables, 
they call it, don’t they ? ” 

“ I am going to talk about the farm in a minute,” 
said Rosamond, her eyes brightening. “Aunt Jane 
has left us a life interest in The Gables.” 

“ What is a life interest } ” inquired Clementcy. 

“ A life interest, darling,” said Rosamond, “ means 
that as long as we all four live, or as long as any 
one of us lives, The Gables is to belong to us. Now 
we are all young, and I hope, please God, that we 
may have long lives, so we may practically consider 
The Gables as our property.” 

“ And if The Gables is let,” said Barbara, who 
began to assume quite an old-world and practical air, 
“ we shall have the rent to add to our other income.” 

“ But that is the puzzling part,” said Rosamond. 
“ At the present moment The Gables is not let. The 
last tenant went bankrupt, and since then Aunt Jane 
has not been able to find a suitable farmer to take the 
place. Mr. Johnson says the farm is too small, and 
that farmers who really mean to make their living do 
not care for so little land.” 

“ How much land is there ? ” asked Barbara. 

“Twenty acres.” 

“ Twenty ! Why, that seems to me to be quite an 
estate. I once heard Aunt Jane say that the garden 
here only contained half an acre, and I am sure I 
think it an immense place.” 

“Yes, but everything is relative,” said Rosamond, 
“and twenty acres for a farm is not much. Now, 
girls, do listen — now for the heart of the secret 
itself.” 

“ Oh dear, this is quite exciting,” cried Clementcy. 

“Aunt Jane has suggested,” continued Rosamond 
— “ she said in her letter that she thought it would 


The Heart of the Secret. 47 

be a good plan if we four girls went to live at 
The Gables.” 

“ To live there ! ” cried Ursula. 

“ Yes, Ursie ; please don’t interrupt me for a 
moment. Aunt Jane thought that we might live 
there and — and become farmers ourselves — girl- 
farmers.” 

“ Good gracious ! ” cried Barbara — she was so 
excited now that she could not keep her seat. She 
stood up and faced her three sisters. 

“ That plan would not suit me at all,” she said. 
“If I am anything, I am literary — I love books. I 
love story-books and poetry, and the thought some- 
times comes to me that one day I may be able to 
write. Now a farmer ” 

“ Particularly a girl-farmer,” said Ursula. 

“ And I should be only a child-farmer,” said 
Clementcy. 

“Never mind,” continued Rosamond. “There 
are four of us — four to bear the burden — four to 
encourage and help each other. Barbara, you are a 
great deal too young to write anything yet, and 
there is no money at present to have you educated 
— that is, unless you spend your share of the capital. 
Why should we not all go and live at The Gables, and 
do the best we can with the land ? ” 

“Do you know anything about farming, Rosa- 
mond ? ” asked Barbara. 

“ Nothing at the present mc^ment, but I can 
learn.” Rosamond’s soft brown eyes had a wistful 
look. “And I think I should greatly like the life,” 
she continued. “ I have read of the country, of 
course ; and you know, girls, sometimes we have gone 
there. Don’t you remember the little cottage in 
Yorkshire, where we spent a month after Clementcy 
had the measles ? The old woman kept two cows 


48 


Merry Girls of England. 


and some ducks and fowls, and we used to watch her 
milking the cows and making the butter. And oh, 
don’t you recall the wood at the back of the house, 
and the flowers ? There were flowers everywhere.” 

“ I remember quite well,” said Barbara. “ It was 
June, and the briar-rose was out. I used to go and 
sniff at it — I thought it pretty, only it had so many 
thorns.” 

“ Well, we should have flowers always round us 
at The Gables,” continued Rosamond. “ Don’t you 
think we should be happy there ? ” 

“ Might we keep chickens of our very own ? ” 
inquired Clementcy, an anxious frown coming be- 
tween her brows. 

“We should keep plenty of chickens, Clem. We 
should have to learn at once, if we agree to under- 
take this thing, about the rearing of chickens, and 
the management of ducklings and young goslings ; 
and presently, as we got on, we should have a dairy ; 
and it would be the office of one of us to manage the 
butter, and another to learn to milk the cows. Oh, 
we should have plenty to eat, and we would sell 
enough to buy what other things we require. It 
seems to me that we should have a happy, delightful 
life.” 

“ I see that you have made up your mind, Rosa- 
mond,” said Barbara ; “what is the good of consulting 
us when you have made up your mind already ? ” 

“ But, Bab, does not the idea appeal to you ? Don’t 
you think we should be very happy } ” 

“ I am not at all sure,” answered Barbara. “ If I 
were thirty or forty — a poor, useless, old woman — 
I might be in raptures with this scheme ; but I am 
very young, not sixteen yet, and I am full of am- 
bition, and I do not wish to go away from the High 
School.” 


The Heart of the Secret. 49 

“ But I am afraid you must, for who is to pay the 
High School fees ? ” 

“If only I were a little older, and could write 
something that somebody would buy and publish 
and pay for ! ” said Barbara again. “ Well,” she added, 
“ at any rate, I can go in for all the prizes that the 
girls* magazines offer, and that money might help.” 

“You can try for those in the country.” 

“ But I should have no time. As I am the 
strongest, I should probably be elected to the delight- 
ful office of milking the cows.” 

Rosamond coloured, and an annoyed expression 
flitted across her gentle face. 

“ Well,” she said, “ I for one am much inclined 
to try this plan. It is not as if we had choice ; we 
cannot live on forty pounds a year ; and The Gables 
is at our disposal. 1 shall go up to-night to the Free 
Library, and get some books about farming and the 
keeping of poultry, and all that sort of thing. We 
must each of us begin to study these books, and to 
work really hard to acquire the necessary know- 
ledge.” 

“How determined you are!” said Barbara — she 
got up, walked to the window, and looked out. 

The cranky old neighbour who lived in the house 
opposite saw Barbara’s pale face as it was pressed up 
against the glass. Barbara, catching sight of her, 
backed a few steps — she was not in the humour to 
be watched ; the world felt crooked — she was not 
enamoured of the country scheme. 

“ Rosamond is so easily satisfied,” she said to 
herself. “ I never heard of girls like us becoming 
farmers. How Lucy Tregunter will laugh when I 
tell her!” 

Lucy Tregunter was one of Barbara’s many 
friends at the High School. Barbara thought of her 
D 


50 Merry Girls of England. 

now with a queer contraction at her heart. She 
disliked ridicule of any sort, and Lucy was by no 
means unsparing with her taunts and jeers whenever 
an occasion arose to use them. 

Meanwhile Clementcy had climbed upon Rosa- 
mond’s knees, and Ursula, nestling close to her elder 
sister, began asking eager questions. Barbara heard 
their voices, and her anger and dislike to the scheme 
grew greater and greater. 

“ They are all three for it, and I am out in the 
cold,” she thought “ Of course, I know how it will 
end. Rosamond, though she is so easy-going, is 
obstinate when she takes the bit between her teeth. 
Now the idea does not suit me at all — I was not 
meant for a farmer, I was not meant for a country 
life. I never shall be able to understand poultry, nor 
cows, nor any of those tiresome domestic matters. 
I was meant for other things. This scheme is not 
to my mind, and it is my duty to say so plainly.” 

As this thought came to her she turned abruptly 
and went back to her sisters. 

“ Rosamond,” .she said, “ I do not approve of the 
country plan.” 

“ I am sorry for that, Barbara,” answered Rosa- 
mond anxiously ; “ but perhaps you will consent to 
try it with the rest of us for a year } ” 

“ I don’t suppose I can prevent jyour trying it — 
the matter rests with you.” 

“ I don’t think so,” replied Rosamond. " Aunt 
Jane has left us, young as we are, absolutely inde- 
pendent. We may do what we like about the farm, 
and we may also do what we like with our small 
capital. There is to be no waiting until when we 
come of age. We may do what we like now. If you, 
Bab, really wish it, you can have your share of the 
money now.” 


The Heart of the Secret. 51 

“ How much would my share be ? ” asked Barbara 
anxiously, dropping down as she spoke on the nearest 
chair. 

“ Two hundred and fifty pounds, of course.” 

“And I might do what I liked with it ? I might 
have it now ? ” 

“ Yes, I don’t see how I am to prevent you. But 
oh, Bab, how awfully, terribly lonely I shall be ! ” 

Tears sprang to Rosamond’s eyes. 

“ Don’t cry. Rose,” answered Barbara. “ This is 
such an important matter that I must consider it 
very carefully. You say you have consulted Mr. 
Johnson 

“ Not exactly about this scheme, but I am going 
to tell him in the morning.” 

“And you, Ursula — and you, Clementcy, are 
satisfied ? ” asked Barbara. 

“ Quite,” replied Ursula. 

“ I shall love the flowers and the chickens and the 
young goslings,” said Clementcy. 

“ Well, of course, you are only a baby ; you cannot 
be expected to think differently. But I am rather 
surprised at you, Ursie, for you really did get on at 
school.” 

“ Well, I had to do my best,” said Ursula ; “ but I 
sha’n’t object to doing no more lessons.” 

“ Oh, but lessons must go on,” said Rosamond. 
“ Lessons must not be given up ; we will plan all our 
day. Oh, Bab, Bab, do join us ; why should not you 
teach the two younger girls ? ” 

Barbara’s dark eyes brightened ; this last idea 
evidently pleased her. 

“Well,” she said, jumping up, “I will think over 
the matter, and let you know.” 

She left the room as she spoke. 

On the wide, pleasant landing outside the drawing- 
D 2 


52 


Merry Girls of England. 


room she paused to consider the situation. Barbara 
was a girl full of ambition. Up to the present 
moment her life had been childish and frivolous 
enough, but there had always been a certain strength 
and determination about her, and from the time she 
had entered the High School at Charlton she had 
really mapped out her future with a good deal of 
firmness and common-sense. 

She was determined to reach the head of the 
school ; she was determined to learn all that the 
excellent High School could impart to her, and then — 
then of course she must become a teacher. But the 
end-all of life for Barbara did not culminate in teach- 
ing others. Her little head was full of ideas ; surely, 
at some time in her life, those ideas would be worth 
listening to. Suppose she put them on paper ? And 
oh, the delight, the rapture of seeing them printed ! 

“ If I give in to that farm scheme, I shall simply 
vegetate,” she said to herself. “ Now I am not sixteen 
yet, and I do not intend to vegetate. When all is 
said and done, Lucy Tregunter is full of wisdom ; 
suppose I take her into my confidence ? ” 

No sooner had this thought come than Barbara 
resolved to act upon it. She ran upstairs to the attic, 
pulled open a drawer, took from its depths her new 
neat black sailor hat, drew on her black gloves, 
fastened on her tie, and ran downstairs. 

“ Where are you going at this hour. Miss 
Barbara ? ” said Sarah, who met her in the hall. 

“ Never you mind,” answered Barbara pertly. 

“ It is full soon and full late for you to be going 
out,” muttered the maid, her face flushed with anger. 

Barbara did not even glance at her. 

“ I like her the least of them all,” thought 
the good woman as she listened to the young 
girl’s rapid footsteps hastening down the street 



ti i 


WHERE ARE YOU GOING?’” (/. 52). 








A. 





i 

I 


•J 


« 

* • 






i 



'* J 

, ^ • 





I 







\ 


* 


I 


-r 


I 


'I 




$ 








J 

The Heart of the Secret. 53 

“From the very first I could see that she never cared. 
It was all done for her and for the rest of them ; a 
deal of anxiety gone through, and a deal of thought 
and care and worry borne with the patience of an 
angel. But Miss Barbara never took no heed ; it was 
nothing to Miss Barbara what anyone did for her. 
Now Miss Rosamond — bless her pretty face ! — she did 
care, and she was worth taking trouble for ; and Miss 
Ursula and Miss Clementcy, they are right good 
children too. Miss Barbara is the difficult one. Any- 
one can see that with half an eye. What an obstinate 
curve she has to her mouth, and how big and resolved 
her eyes can look at times ! Well, she’ll never be a 
beauty; and if she don’t mind her manners, she’ll 
have a hard fight for it in life, I take it.” 

Meanwhile Barbara, quite unconscious of Sarah’s 
wise reflections, was hurrying down the terrace. 
Eastman Terrace ended with a great flight of 
steps. These steps led into the High Street. 
The High Street was very gay and bright, and 
Barbara, in spite of herself, lingered as she walked. 
The gasman was going by, lighting the gas. Already 
it had been lit in all the shop-windows. Barbara was 
very fond of looking into shops. She was a regular 
town girl ; there was a big book-shop just round the 
corner which particularly attracted her attention. 
She had looked often through its glass windows with 
a sigh of intense longing. Here were the books she 
envied : Kingsley’s novels, Thackeray’s, Dickens’s, 
Sir Walter Scott’s. Here in neat rows they 
stood — so cheap, too ; although Bab could never 
aflbrd to buy them. She knew their names by heart, 
having read the titles often as she pressed her face 
against the glass. Ursula and Clementcy used to be 
annoyed with Bab when she stared so long into the 
great book-shop window. They were not so much 


54 


Merry Girls of England. 


interested in books as she was. They used to go a 
little further down the street, and gaze into another 
window of the same shop, observing the prints, and 
the photographs, and the picture frames, and the 
thousand and one little knicknacks which stationers’ 
shops as a rule contain. But Barbara only loved the 
window through which she could see the books. 
They represented that world which she longed to 
enter — that world to which she hoped some day to 
belong. 

“After all, I am not a penniless girl,” she reflected 
now to herself “ I could, any day I like to claim it, 
become the happy possessor of two hundred and fifty 
pounds. Two hundred and fifty pounds means an 
awful lot of money to me. When I have it, I shall be 
able to buy some of these. Fancy being the owner 
of Kingsley’s ‘ Heroes ’ ! Fancy being able to clasp 
between my two hands Thackeray’s ‘Vanity Fair’! 
Oh, and I see George Eliot in the corner. Once I 
read half of the ‘ Mill on the Floss ’ ; how I did long, 
long beyond words, to learn more about Maggie 1 If 
I get my fortune, I can buy that book. Oh, why 
should not I have it } Why should I submit to that 
death in life which Rosamond is so pleased about 
Why. with all that money I could go and live in 
London. Did not Lucy Tregunter tell me that girls, 
very little older than I am, live now in London in 
dear little flats ? Each girl possesses three rooms, and 
there is a big restaurant downstairs where she can have 
her meals. Why, the whole idea is heavenly ; it excites 
me, it sets my heart beating; and in London I should 
be surrounded by books. I could go to the British 
Museum, and read there. They have at the British 
Museum a copy of every book that ever was printed. 
It would be books, books with me from morning to 
night. I might stop all that part of my education 


The Heart of the Secret. 55 

which I don’t like ; arithmetic, for instance, and 
French. Horrid stuff French is ! I shall never make 
a good French scholar. But I might go on with my 
music; I love that — at least, sometimes. And German 
is not so very bad ; and Latin — I have never learned 
Latin, but I think I should like to begin. It would 
be nice to be a classical scholar. Perhaps some day, 
if I really worked hard, I might know enough Greek 
to read some of dear old Homer. I have read him 
already in translations, but I want the real genuine 
thing. Oh, those books, those books ! Why should 
a girl who thinks as I do, who longs beyond words for 
something greater, bigger, and grander than herself, be 
banished into the country to be a girl-farmer ? No, I 
won’t be a girl-farmer ; I have made up my mind.” 

Barbara hurried on, her cheeks flushed, her heart 
beating wildly. Soon she reached a more aristocratic 
part of the town. She had now to go downhill, and to 
pass several terraces of imposing-looking houses ; at 
last she reached the great mansion enclosed within 
gates, and with a wide gravel sweep before the door, 
where her friend, Lucy Tregunter, resided. 

Lucy’s father was in the leather trade, but that 
very fact made Lucy the richest, and in some people’s 
eyes the most consequential, girl in the High School. 
She was a couple of years Barbara’s senior, and from 
the first had taken a fancy to the younger girl’s 
piquant and uncommon little face. 

Lucy was a somewhat satirical young person, and 
her sharp words and the keen edge of her wit were 
more dreaded by the girls in her class than any 
amount of blows and physical rough treatment. 

Barbara quickly mounted the flight of steps and 
rang the bell at the big hall door. A servant in 
livery opened it, and, when asked if Lucy were at 
home, replied in the affirmative. 


S6 Merry Girls of England. 

He took Barbara upstairs at once to Lucy’s own 
private sanctum, where that young lady was seated 
in a swivel chair before a desk surrounded by papers, 
with a pen stuck behind her ear. She jumped up 
when she saw Barbara, and revealed a very mannish 
costume. 

“ Oh, my dear Barbara Underhill,” she cried, “you 
must excuse me. Of all people I did not expect you. 
Pray don’t look at my dress ; I have just been for a 
long ride on my bicycle ; I believe I went close 
on forty miles ; I don’t look much the worse for it, 
do I?” 

“No, all the better. You look splendid, Lucy,” 
said Barbara, giving her friend an admiring 
glance. 

“ Well, what do you think of my get-up? You can 
leave us, James.” She nodded to the footman, who 
retired. “ What do you think of this new skirt ? You 
see how it is made, rather full to the front and lined 
with silk ; of course that is indispensable, to enable 
you to move your legs quickly ; then is not this little 
coat delightfully chic? Oh dear, dear! I wish father 
would not object to the divided skirt; I should 
certainly wear it if he allowed me. But there, he is 
inexorable. Oh, Barbara, Barbara, I can never get 
over that one great grief of my life — why was not 
I born a boy ? ” 

“ I think you make a very nice girl, for my part,” 
said Barbara ; “but if you really want to be a boy, you 
look uncommonly like one in this half-light, Lucy. 
When did you take to parting your hair on one side ? 
Oh, I know; you always wore it cut short. Then that 
mannish little coat ! ” 

“Is not it a darling ? ” said Lucy. “ Look at the 
pockets and the cut-away back. I think it awfully 
too-too.” 


The Heart or the Secret 57 

“ I suppose it is ; but the fact is, Lucy, I am not 
much interested in dress.’' 

“ No, you poor girl, you have no chance to be. 
But never mind, your day will come. By the way, 
how old are you ? ” 

“ I shall be sixteen in a month.” 

“Just the must awkward age in the world,” said 
Lucy, flinging herself back in her chair and twirling 
the pen which she had removed from behind her ear. 
“When you looked in, I was just scribbling the last 
pages of a paper on the awkwardness of youth; 
I think what I have said reads uncommonly well. 
Do you know, Barbara, when you appeared I was 
just describing you. You seem to me to point my 
moral better than any other girl I know.” 

These were the sort of remarks Lucy was fond of 
making, and Barbara, colouring, began to wish she 
had not come to see her. 

“ But never mind that now,” continued Lucy, 
changing her manner in a moment. “You know I 
am nothing if I am not frank. I must speak out my 
mind, and those who don’t like to hear my true 
remarks had better leave me.” 

“ Well, I like you, in spite of your frankness,” said 
Barbara. 

“You dear old thing, you ought to like me all the 
better for it. Besides, you are frank enough in your 
own way, and that is ono reason why I take to you. 
By the way, Barbara, I was coming to see you. Of 
course I had heard of your trouble.” 

“ It is not a trouble to me, Lucy,” said Barbara. 

Lucy put on her pince-nez and gazed critically at 
her friend. Then she left her seat, walked across the 
room, and switched on the electric light. 

“ Now that is better,” she said. “ I can talk more 
comfortably when I see your face. What a dear, 


58 


Merry Girls of England. 


queer, original creature you are ! Have not you had 
a death in the family ? ” 

“Yes, Aunt Jane died last week.” 

“By the way,” said Lucy, pressing the electric 
bell as she spoke, “ is it true that Miss Motley was 
no relation of yours after all } ” 

“ It is quite true ; she adopted us all years ago. 
She was very, very good to us.” 

“ She was a peculiar and very reserved woman, 
was she not ? ” said Lucy. “ Ah, is that you, James ? 
Tea, please, at once ; oh, and a plate of cold meat for 
me — I am terribly hungry. Barbara, would you like 
an egg?” 

“ No, thank you, Lucy ; I cannot eat anything — I 
have just had tea.” 

“Well, tea for one, then, James; and be quick 
about it. Now then, Barbara, go on ; so you are 
really no relation of Miss Motley’s ? ” 

“ None whatever; she was good to us, better than 
anyone else — but oh, Lucy, I cannot help telling you 
the truth, I never did love her. Now that she is 
dead ” 

“ Now that she is dead, are you going to be well 
off.?” asked Lucy, crossing her legs and placing her 
hands in the little pockets of her smartly-cut coat. 

“Well, Lucy, I suppose you would think us poor, 
but I don’t.” 

“ I am interested in you, of course,” said Lucy ; 
“ my form mistress says that you are very clever, 
Barbara.” 

“ Does she really .? ” said Barbara, her big eyes 
blazing with delight. 

“Yes; how you colour, child! I heard her tell- 
ing one of the professors the other day that you had 
quite a man’s brain.” 

“ Oh, how delighted I am 1 ” 


The Heart of the Secret. 


59 


“ It is terribly easy to flatter you, dear.” 

“ But truth is not flattery,” said Barbara. 

“Well, well, it is for you to make it true. You 
are devoted to books, are you not ? ” 

“ Yes, you know it.” 

“ And some day you have a daring little ambition 
to do a book yourself? ” 

Barbara coloured. 

“ Oh, Lucy,” she said, “ how could you guess ? ” 

“ How could I guess ? ” echoed Lucy. “ Have I 
not seen it in your eyes for the last year ? The author 
mania is on you, Barbara ; and now it is my duty to 
warn you before it is too late. As sure as you intend 
to become an author, look out for trouble : the rejec- 
tion of your dearest hopes by the publishers ; if the 
publishers consent to bring out your immature volume, 
the onslaught of the critics ; the indifference of the 
public, who will not buy your book on any terms.” 

“ How do you know all this, Lucy ? Why should 
these dismal things happen to me ? ” 

“ I don’t say they will ; only they may, they are 
very likely to, happen. It is always best to be pre- 
pared for the worst ; that is my motto, and that is why 
I am seldom disappointed. Now this paper of m.ine 
on the awkwardness of youth — you don’t know what 
a lot of thought and trouble I have given to it — I am 
going to send it — oh, but it is such a secret — I am 
going to send it to the Social Age. Perhaps the 
editor will print it ; anyhow, I am going to put my 
fate into his hands. If it comes out, you shall have a 
copy of the paper. By the way, would you like me to 
read the essay over to you to-night, Barbara?” 

“ I don’t think so,” replied Barbara, colouring 
uneasily. She knew what this meant. Lucy would 
read the essay, which would be in reality — for Barbara 
had listened to many from the same pen — extremely 


6o Merry Girls of England. 

immature and childish ; then Barbara would be asked 
to criticise ; then Lucy would take another rough pro- 
duction from her desk, and read that, and Barbara 
would have to criticise again, and then her friend 
would inflict some poetry on her — poetry which was 
not up to the Tennysonian standard, and Barbara 
would have to flatter her all the time, and to hate 
herself for doing so. Yes, this was how Barbaras 
evenings with Lucy generally terminated. But she 
was quite determined that such should not be the 
case to-night It was her turn now to have a 
hearing. Was not her whole future trembling in 
the balance, and had not she herself elected that 
Lucy Tregunter was to be the arbiter of her fate ? 


CHAPTER VI. 

PRINCESS POTENTILLA. 

“ 1 HAVE come to consult you, Lucy,” said Barbara, 
speaking almost timidly ; “ that is why I cannot listen 
to your essay to-night Of course, another time I 
shall be only too delighted.” 

“ Oh, never mind about another time,” said Lucy, 
colouring high. “I do not at all know that I shall 
be in the humour to submit my work to your frank 
criticism another time.” Then she stared very 
hard at Barbara ; saw that she was really, as she 
expressed it, bursting with great news ; and forgot her 
slight disappointment in curiosity. 

“ Here comes the tea,” she said. “ Now I will 
ensconce myself in this arm-chair and you shall pour it 
out for me. After all, forty miles on the noble wheel 


P/^/NCESS POTENTILLA. 


6i 


does take it out of you, however manly and brave you 
may choose to be over it. Pour me out a nice cup, 
cJi^rie^ and then put that plate of cold meat on the 
little table by my side. Now is not this cosy ? I am 
so glad you have dropped in, Barbara ; it is quite a 
pleasure to have you to talk to ; you are positive that 
you yourself won’t have something to eat ? ” 

“ I am not hungry,” said Barbara a little stiffly. 
She attended to Lucy’s wants, and Lucy allowed her- 
self to be waited on. She pushed her hand through 
her short, curling hair, her blue eyes grew bright, she 
took off her pince-nez, and permitted herself, as she 
expressed it, to be comfortable ; there were roses on 
her cheeks, and her well-knit frame spoke the perfec- 
tion of physical health. 

“ I do wish I were a boy and that you were my 
page,” she said. 

“ Thank you very much, but I don’t know that I 
should care for the office,” answered Barbara, who 
felt for some reason very much nettled with her 
friend. 

“ Oh, dear, dear Bab, don’t you get cross, or what 
will the world come to } Now you want to confide 
in me, and of course I am all too anxious to hear 
what you have to say. Out with the news, little girl ; 
believe me, I am all attention.” 

“ I came here on purpose to consult you,” said 
Barbara ; she had poured out a second cup of tea, but 
forgot to hand it to her friend ; she stood upright 
two or three feet away from Lucy, the colour came 
and went on her cheeks, her eyes were bright with 
emotion. It means everything to me,” she con- 
tinued, “ and I have no one to consult but you. You 
will, I am sure, give me a perfectly unbiassed 
opinion.” 

“ You know my frankness,” said Lucy. 


62 


Merry Girls of England. 


“Yes, I know — I know. Lucy, there is a dreadful 
plan being proposed at home.” 

“ Then you are poor } ” said Lucy. 

“ You might perhaps think so ; you are my friend, 
and I will tell you everything. Aunt Jane — yes, I 
must always call her that — has left in cash one 
thousand pounds between us four girls.” 

Lucy gave a little whistle. 

“Why do you do that, Lucy? How rude of 
you ! ” 

“ I was only thinking of your magnificent fortune ! 
Forgive me, my love. Do, please, proceed.” 

“ That was all the money Aunt Jane had to leave 
us,” said Barbara hotly. “ Although I never professed 
to love her, there never was so just or so good a 
woman as Aunt Jane Motley.” 

“ So it seems, when she has left you four girls to 
starve,” said Lucy. 

“ You don’t understand. She could not do more 
than leave us what she had got. A good deal of her 
income was derived from an annuity which ceased at 
her death. I don’t exactly know what all that means, 
but Mr. Johnson explained it to Rosamond yesterday. 
Then some of her money had to go to her nephew, 
who is a barrister in London ; but all the rest she left 
to us. The thousand pounds in cash and a farm in 
the country called The Gables.” 

“ The Gables ! ” said Lucy. “ Why, surely The 
Gables is not far from Ellenbergh ; I have friends 
at Ellenbergh, and I know we often used to pass a 
tumble-down little place called The Gables. Can it 
possibly be the same ? ” 

“ I expect so ; I have not the least doubt that it is 
tumble-down and hideous.” 

“ You don’t seem enamoured of your property, 
my dear ; and I am sure I can scarcely wonder. Well, 


Princess Potentilla, 63 

proceed. You have a thousand pounds between you, 
and The Gables. I presume you will live there ? ” 

“ Oh, Lucy, as if I could ! ” Barbara’s face went 
first pale and then red. “ You could not surely advise 
that } ” she continued. 

“ Have I hit the nail on the head ? ” said Lucy 
calmly. “ Is that the thought which provokes the 
poor little dear ? ” 

“ I do wish, Lucy, you would be earnest for once. 
You cannot imagine how important all this is to me.” 

“ Well, ril try to be as grave as possible. I really 
am interested, but you must not forget that I have 
just ridden across country forty miles, and am dead 
with sleep and stiff in every bone, and also as hungry 
as a hawk. When I tell you that I refrain from eat- 
ing because I hang on your words, and that I keep 
my eyes open, although I long beyond expression to 
close them, I surely give you sufficient proof that I 
am interested.” 

“ I know you can give me excellent advice when 
you choose.” 

“ Thank you for your good opinion, Barbara. I 
solemnly promise to do my best.” 

“Well, this is the state of affairs. Mr. Johnson 
says we cannot live on the income of a thousand 
pounds.” 

“ Bless the child, I should think not. Why, it 
would not find me in hats and gloves.” 

“ Then of course, Lucy, it cannot find us in food 
and clothes and lodging.” 

“ But the lodging seems to me to be provided 
by The Gables. Even though it is a tumble- down, 
rack-rent sort of place, you will have a roof over 
your heads.” 

“ Oh, Lucy, if you would let me speak ! Aunt 
Jane left Rosamond a letter, to be delivered after her 


64 Merry Girls of England. 

death. Rosamond has told us something of the con- 
tents to-day. Aunt Jane knew that we could not live 
on the income of the capital she- left us, and she 
suggested — what do you think she suggested } — why 
this : that we four should go and live at The Gables 
and farm the land.” 

“ Well } ” said Lucy, sitting more upright and 
looking really interested at last. 

“ And Rosamond and Ursula and Clementcy are 
actually full of the idea,” continued Barbara. “ Of 
course,” she added, speaking with great bitterness, 
“ for me it is absolutely impossible.” 

“ And why so ? Do you know, Barbara, I think 
it is a capital thought ; lady-farmers are quite the 
fashion now.” 

“ What do I care about the fashion } Oh, Lucy, 
don^t you know me better > Don’t you know what I 
hunger and thirst for beyond words ? ” 

“ Food, clothing, shelter,” murmured Lucy, “ all to 
be obtained by that excellent plan of the old lady’s. 
What comes before those three essentials of life, after 
all, Barbara.^” 

I thought you would understand, but you don’t,” 
answered Barbara. “ Is there not intellectual food 
which some people pine for, which I, at least, cannot 
live without ? ” 

“ Frankly, my dear — and you have asked for my 
advice, so I must give it — frankly, I did not know you 
were quite such a goose.” 

“ Then you positively advise me to consent to this 
odious plan ? ” 

“ I should like to know a great deal more about it 
before I attempt to tell you not to consent to it,” said 
Lucy. She rose as she spoke, crossed the room, 
threw open the window, and gazed out into the 
night. 


Princess Potentilla. 6$ 

“ How tired I am ! ” she said, simulating a great 
yawn. 

I see that you are in no humour to listen to me,” 
said Barbara, starting up angrily and preparing to put 
on her hat. 

“Well, Bab, I am sleepy; there is no vital 
necessity to decide anything to-night, is there? 
Come to me to-morrow, if you like, and we will 
talk the whole matter over.” 

“It will be arranged by to-morrow.” 

“ Well, frankly, my opinion at the present moment 
is that you are a lucky girl. It strikes me that you 
might do much worse than resign yourself to the 
lady-farmer idea.” 

“ I am very sorry I told you,” said Barbara, back- 
ing towards the door. 

“ Now, my dear Bab, what is the good of being a 
friend if one is not frank ? You asked me for my 
opinion. If I had concealed my true feelings, and had 
said, ‘ My dear Barbara, you are such a genius, you 
promise some day to be such a shining light, that it 
would be really madness for you to bury yourself in 
the country,’ why, then you would have adored me, 
but because I think Rosamond’s plan very sensible, 
you are annoyed.” 

“Oh, you are right to speak the truth,” said 
Barbara, “ and I would not mind so much if you had 
seemed really interested, but ” 

“Blame that forty miles on the bicycle,” said 
Lucy. “ What can you expect of a poor human being 
who has undergone such fatigue ? ” 

For answer Barbara held out her hand, which 
Lucy lightly clasped. The next moment the 
younger girl was in the street, hurrying home as 
fast as she could. 

“ Rosamond,” she said to her sisteir before she went 


66 


Merry Girls of England. 


to bed that night, “ I went to see Lucy Tregunter this 
evening, and I told her about your plan.” 

“ I hope she won’t repeat it, for nothing is settled 
yet,” said Rosamond, looking vexed. 

" I am sure she won’t, she is not interested enough 
to do that. Anyhow, I felt I must consult someone, 
for I could not help feeling that you would not be on 
my side.” 

“ If you really think that, Barbara, it is for the 
first time,” said Rosamond, tears springing to her eyes. 

“Oh, I know, darling,” said Barbara. “I feel 
through and through me that you are the best sister 
in the world, but there is a part of me which will be 
starved, which will die, if I go to live at the Gables.” 

“ Well, sleep it over,” said Rosamond. “ I have 
written to Mr. Johnson, and he will call to see me 
to-morrow morning. Matters may seem much more 
feasible after you have slept over them.” 

Barbara went up to the attic, where Ursula and 
Clementcy were already in bed and fast asleep. She 
did not wake them, but neither did she attempt to 
undress. Her perplexities, her great unwillingness to 
lead what she called the vegetable life, were all her 
own. She felt quite certain that neither her sisters nor 
any of her friends would understand her. . Must she 
be driven to take this odious step } 

It was late when she got into bed, and then she 
cried herself to sleep. 

The next morning Mr. Johnson called early, and 
after some talk with Rosamond, and some not un- 
natural surprise, began to see that the young girl’s 
plan had germs of feasibility in it. 

“ Well,” he said, “ you astonish me very much, bu 
the fact that Miss Motley suggested the idea speaks 
volumes in itself. Now I tell you what you must do. 
Just take the very next train to Ellenbergh; the Gables 


Princess Potentilla, 67 

is close to the station, and go and see the house for 
yourself. After seeing the house, if you are still 
in favour of the experiment, I will introduce you to a 
friend of mine, an excellent farmer, who will give you 
the help of his experience. Of course, my advice to 
you would be to begin in a very small way at first.” 

I will go to the Gables this very afternoon,” said 
Rosamond, “ and take my sisters with me.” 

‘‘ Do so, and let me know more about your plan 
to-morrow.” 

The lawyer went away, and Rosamond told the 
other girls what she had made up her mind to do. 
A train started for Ellenbergh at half past one, and 
they would arrive at the Gables between two and 
three o’clock. They went on their little expedition, 
even Barbara, in excellent spirits, caught their train, 
and quite early in the afternoon were wandering 
about the neglected farm, which Rosamond already 
saw in her mind’s eye as their future home. It was 
a very tumble-down looking place, but as Clementcy 
and Ursula found corners full of bluebells and 
primroses, as a babbling stream with forget-me-nots 
growing near its border flowed past the house, as the 
" grass was green, and the trees already putting on 
their spring foliage, the two younger girls were wild 
with delight. Rosamond, more practical, eschewed 
the fascinations of the outdoor life, and began to in- 
vestigate the house itself. This consisted of a long, 
low rambling cottage, completely covered with 
different creepers. There was a porch over the front 
door, which opened direct into the dining-room. 
This low, somewhat dark, apartment contained two 
tiny lattice windows, and thick wainscoted walls. The 
windows were nearly smothered in creepers, and the 
greater part of the light came from the door, which was 
divided in the middle after a very old-world fashion. 

E 2 


68 Merry Girls of England, 

Rosamond at once decided that when the bottom 
part of the door was shut, this little room would 
make a delightful dining-room for the hot days of 
summer. But in the winter, it would certainly 
be dark and gloomy. The dining-room led into a 
much more modern apartment, a long and very 
cheerful drawing-room ; this room had wide French 
windows, which opened on to a fair-sized lawn. This 
might with care, be turned into a croquet or even tennis 
lawn. Over the drawing-room was a room similar in 
size, which would make an excellent bed-room for the 
two younger girls, and behind this were three or four 
small very old-world rooms with the same tiny lattice 
windows which characterised the dining-room. These 
rooms had sloping roofs, and were rather dark ; but 
already, early as the year was, the creepers pressed in 
at the windows, and Rosamond said afterwards that 
a whiff of last year’s roses seemed to linger about the 
place. She knew the birds’ nests, as she called these 
tiny chambers, would be lovely in the summer. 

All the furniture had been removed from the 
coUage, and the walls were dirty and needed white- 
wash and fresh paper. 

“ But it will cost very little to furnish it,” thought 
Rosamond, “ and surely, when we have made it bright 
and neat with light paper and paint, no more charm- 
ing little home could possibly be found.” 

Outside there was a coach-house, and stabling 
for two horses ; a fowl-house, a good deal out of repair, 
and a couple of stalls for cows ; and also — last, but 
not least — a long, low, light, and quite modern room, 
which was evidently meant for a dairy. 

“We shall do, we shall do famously,” murmured 
Rosamond to herself. Already her head was full of 
plans. Already she saw the little place picturesque 
and neat as she felt she could make it. The flowers 


Pjr/ncess Potent/lla. 6g 

now choked with weeds in the garden at the back of 
the house should bloom gaily, the grass should be 
mown on the lawn, the fields should be dug and pre- 
pared for the fruitful grain, the fowl-house should be 
full of chickens ; one or two cows should occupy their 
appointed stalls, a rough pony might be purchased to 
take his place in the stable, and a pony-cart in the 
coach-house. Yes, all could be done, and done with 
very little outlay, and, oh ! the delight of the fresh 
country breezes and the pleasurable anticipation of 
the happy farm life ! 

“The winter will be the worst,” thought Rosa- 
mond. “ In the winter the house will be dark and a 
little gloomy ; but there must be some drawback to 
every scheme. Oh, yes, I am quite, quite in favour 
of the farm plan.” 

Meanwhile Barbara, who had taken a dislike to 
the house, and was not enamoured of the baskets full 
of wild flowers which Clementcy and Ursula were 
picking, had wandered away by herself. 

“They will do it,” she reflected as she walked; “we 
shall all come to live here immediately. In a month’s 
time Rosamond will forget that there ever was a book 
written in the whole world. Ursula and Clementcy 
will grow up to be nothing better than farm girls, and 
I, if I consent to this scheme, will have to share a 
similar fate. Notwithstanding what Lucy said last 
night, I doubt if I shall consent.” 

She had just got to this point in her meditations 
when she came suddenly face to face with a tall girl 
who was seated on the top of a stile which led into a 
field. The girl had a comical, half-merry, half- 
pathetic face, and dancing dark blue eyes, which 
looked as if they would burst into smiles on the 
smallest provocation. She was humming a gay air to 
herself, and switching the neighbouring hedge with a 


fo Merry Girls of England. 

small stick when Barbara appeared in view. On 
seeing her, the girl dropped her stick, sat bolt upright, 
and stared with all her might. The colour flushed 
into her cheeks, and then receded, leaving her small 
piquante face quite pale. Barbara also stared at her. 
She was undoubtedly a country girl, but there was an 
air of frankness and good breeding about her which 
attracted Barbara immediately. 

“Do you want to cross the stile said the girl, 
springing lightly to her feet as she spoke, “for if 

j) 

so 

“ Oh, you need not have got down,” said Barbara. 
“ I am not going anywhere in particular.” 

“ I don’t know your face,” said the girl, speaking 
in an eager voice : “ are you a stranger here } 

“ Quite.” 

“ How very interesting ; are you going to see 
anybody ? ” 

“No, I was just taking a stroll; I have nothing 
special to do.” 

“ And you are quite a stranger ? ” repeated the 
girl, springing back to her former perch, and beginning 
again to switch the hedge with her stick. “ It is dull 
here sometimes ; yes, it is very dull. If you really 
have nothing particular to do, would you mind 
jumping up on the stile and having a chat with me ? I 
don’t see girls who are strangers often — never, in fact. 
I should like very much to have a talk with you.” 

“ My name is Barbara Underhill,” said Barbara 
slowly, and pausing as she did so. 

“Barbara Undeihill; that is a very pretty name, 
and very uncommon. Mine is Hero Chevening. I 
was called after one of Shakespeare’s heroines. Do 
jump up on the stile : there is plenty of room for us 
both. I live in that big house just yonder; you can 
see it if you crane your neck. Do you come from 


Princess Potentilla. 


7 ^ 

London ? You have not got the sort of air I should 
suppose an ordinary country girl to have.” 

“ No, I don’t come from London,” answered 
Barbara. “We have lived up to the present at 
Charlton.” Then she added impulsively, “ I think I 
must tell you, my sisters and I have some idea of 
coming to live at the Gables, that ugly little house 
just round the corner.” 

“That dear, fascinating, little house you mean,” 
said the girl, “ and you think of living there ; how 
splendid for me ! Have you plenty of room, Barbara 
— Miss Underhill, I mean ; have I given you your fair 
share of the stile ” 

“ Yes, I have plenty of room, thank you,” answered 
Barbara. She sat quite still, her hands lying idly in 
her lap ; her companion interested her, but she was 
not specially inclined to talk. 

“ And I live in that big house,” said Hero ; “ you 
can see it for yourself, if you take the trouble to look.” 

“ What is it called } ” asked Barbara. 

“The Hall ; it is a big place, dreadfully big.” 

“ Then I suppose you are rich,” said Barbara, knit- 
ting her brows. 

“ Rich } I assure you I am the poorest girl in the 
world.” 

Barbara looked round once more; she could see 
the Hall very distinctly ; it was an old-fashioned pile, 
grey with age, and with a castellated roof. There 
were thick woods at the back, reaching far away to- 
wards the horizon ; she could also catch a glimpse of 
flower gardens and well-kept, smoothly-mown lawns. 

“ If you live at the Hall, you must be rich,” she 
said in irritation ; “ that is, unless ” 

“ Unless what? ” said the other girl, twinkling hei 
merry eyes and looking as if she meant to burst Into 
a peal of laughter the next moment. 


^2 Merry Girls oe England. 

“ Unless you are a poor relation.” 

“ I am not Chevening Hall will belong to me 
some day.” 

“ Then you talk nonsense, and you ought not to 
humbug me,” said Barbara, jumping off the stile and 
getting very red. 

“ Get up again, please, my dear Miss Hot-temper,” 
said the strange girl, catching hold of Barbara’s hand 
as she spoke. “ I like you because you are impulsive, 
and now I will tell you something about myself. In 
the whole of England there is not a poorer girl 
than I.” 

‘‘You ought not to laugh at me. Miss Chevening.” 

“I assure you. Miss Underhill, that I am telling 
you the solemn truth ; but now, before I say any 
more, are we to be friends or not ? ” 

“ It scarcely looks like it at the present moment,” 
said Barbara, speaking very angrily. 

“Yes, it does. I know the symptoms better than 
you do. You will cool down in a moment or two, 
and allow that I am speaking the truth. To begin 
with, please understand that I am not Miss Chevening 
to you, I am Hero; think of me as Shakespeare’s 
heroine, and you will find it impossible not to admire 
me. You, to me, are not Miss Underhill, but Barbara. 
I love the name of Barbara. I do so wish your sur- 
name was Allen ; I admire the old ballad of ‘ Barbara 
Allen.’ I should have acted just as she did. But now 
to proceed. I am poor, Barbara, because I have not 
got one of the things which make life rich.” 

“ And yet you look merry enough,” said Barbara ; 
“of course, your dress” — here she glanced at a very 
shabby cotton frock which contained a large patch 
just above the hem. 

“I tore it yesterday,” said Hero, “and Mrs. Gun- 
ling— she is my governess ; I detest her — insisted on 


Princess Potentilla, 


73 


my mending it to-day, so I put on this patch. She has 
not seen it yet ; it is not even the same material, but 
what does that matter } Well, now I will tell you how 
I am poor. I have no fine clothes — not that that 
matters : I don’t care a fig for grand raiment — but 
I am poor because I am without friends and without 
the ordinary interests of life. I have not even a pet 
animal since Frisk, my Scotch terrier, died. I loved 
Frisk ; he was caught in a trap meant for a fox.” Here 
tears sprang suddenly to the girl’s eyes. “ He was 
cruelly injured, and they had to shoot him ; I cannot 
bear to think of that day. When I know you better 
I will show you his grave. Every morning I put 
flowers there; I never neglect that. Frisk died, and I 
have had no companion since. I am not by right 
allowed to sit on this stile ; but, all the same, I do it 
every day — that is, when Gunning’s back is turned. I 
get enough to eat, although my food is very plain, and 
I have horrid, very old-fashioned lessons to learn. 
Would you believe it? I learn ‘Magnall’s Questions,’ 
the most obsolete book in existence ! Grannie used 
it when she was a girl. That is Gunning’s style. Once 
a girl came to stay with me, a girl from London. 
She did me an immense amount of mischief — without 
meaning it, of course — and since then I have pined 
and pined for what I have not got. Before she 
came I did not know the things she spoke of existed. 
Of course, she asked me lots of questions, and I 
showed her my lesson-books and talked to her, and 
then she lifted the curtain, and showed me what life 
really is. She told me about High Schools, for in- 
stance, and Colleges for Women, and bicycles on which 
all the girls seem to ride now, and she explained 
about the Rational Dress, and the New Woman, who 
is thought much more of now than man is. She said 
this is the Golden Age for women, and that I am far, 


74 Merry Girls of England. 

far back in the mediaeval times. Oh ! how much 
she talked, and how she excited me, but she only 
stayed for two nights, and then she went away. I 
have pined, as I said, ever since, for I have known 
that I am in prison. Often and often and often 
I long to break the bars of my cage.” 

“ But why does all this happen ? ” asked Barbara, 
immensely interested at last. 

“ I cannot tell you, for I do not know myself. 
Grannie is the present owner of the Hall. I came 
here when I was four years old. I have only a dim 
remembrance of my life before then, but I have no- 
doubt it was very much like the life of any other 
petted child. I do not see Grannie very often ; she is 
not an invalid, but she likes to be quite alone. I have 
breakfast with Gunning, and dinner with Grannie and 
Gunning, and supper with Gunning, and I walk 
abroad, when I do walk abroad, with Gunning, and I 
never exchange ideas except with that worthy and 
interesting creature. She talks ‘Magnall’s Questions’ 
when we are out, and ‘ papa, potatoes, prunes, and 
prism’ when we are at our meals. Once she made 
valiant efforts to get me to converse in the French 
tongue, but I stuck at that. Whenever she sees me 
with a modern book she takes it away. Once I fought 
my way into the library (there is a splendid library at 
the Hall, and lots of books), and Gunning told Grannie, 
and Grannie locked the door, and I have not been in 
since. My private library consists of the ‘Fairchild 
Family,’ ‘ Pilgrim’s Progress,’ and the ‘ Daisy Chain.’ I 
read these three books by turns, and I know them 
pretty well by heart now. This morning I read about 
Giant Despair in ‘ Pilgrim’s Progress,’ and it was so 
precious dull with him that I ran off and came to my 
dear stile. Here I sit and watch the world. As a rule, 
the world is not exciting from my stile. Farmers go by 


Princess Potentilla. 


75 ^ 

very slowly, cracking their whips and gee-upping their 
horses. Once I saw a young man with a fishing rod ; 
he had blue eyes and fair, curling hair. He stared 
very hard at me, and I stared back at him. I won- 
dered just for a moment, if he could really be Prince 
Narcissus, and if he were going to rescue Prin- 
cess Potentilla. You know, I often think of myself as 
Princess Potentilla, but I saw at a glance that he did 
not look strong enough, so I just switched the hedge 
and whistled ; I can whistle, and it relieves my feel- 
ings, and he went by, and I have not seen him since. 
To-day you came ; I never saw anyone like you be- 
fore. My heart beat when you walked up the road. 
Now are we to be friends or not 

“ I should like very much indeed to be your 
friend,” said Barbara. * 

“ That is right, Barbara. That is delightful. Now, 
please, say slowly after me, ‘ I am going to be your 
friend, Hero Chevening.’ ” 

‘ I am going to be your friend, Hero Chevening,’ ” 
repeated Barbara, feeling fascinated. 

Hero held out a small, beautifully-tapered hand, 
which Barbara clasped in her strong, over-big fingers. 

“ And you are to live at the Gables ? ” said Hero. 

“ For a short time, perhaps, I must,” answered 
Barbara. 

“ Oh, pray, don’t speak of it in that tone. Think 
how delightful it will be for me.” 

“You will make a difference, certainly,” replied 
Barbara. 

“ 1 shall see you every day,” continued Hero. 

“ Every day I will come and sit on the stile when 
Gunning .is having her nap. She naps for two full 
hours every day ; but for that fact I should have gone 
mad long ago. While she is asleep I will take you 
to the Hall and show you the queer old rooms. To a 


76 Merry Girls of England. 

stranger it would appear probably a lovely place, 
only I am deadly tired of it ; and you shall come to 
my bed-room and see my dear library, my ‘ Daisy 
Chain,’ my ‘ Pilgrim’s Progress,’ and my ‘ Fairchild 
Family.’ Barbara, don’t you hate the ‘Fairchild 
Family ’ ? Were there ever such prigs as those two 
girls, and that boy, and then the awful parents ! I 
often compare Mrs. Gunning to Mr. and Mrs. Fair- 
child, and John and Betty, the two servants, all rolled 
together. She is the essence of prim decorum and 
severity. Now, don’t you understand what I mean 
when I say that I am poor ? ” 

“ I think I do, and I am sorry for you,” said 
Barbara. “ While I am at the Gables I shall like 
to think that I am near you, and that you will 
be my friend.” 

“ I have not the least doubt that I shall love 
you in the end better even than I loved dear 
Frisk,” said Hero. 

Barbara jumped down from the stile. 

“ I must be going now,” she said. “ It is nearly 
time for us to catch our train.” 

“ Did you say that you had sisters ? ” 

“ Three.” 

“ How delightful ! And shall I get to know 
you all.?” 

“ I suppose so. Hero. I hope you will come often 
to see us at the Gables.” 

“ You may be quite sure I will. Must you really 
go now .? Do you know, it is just like parting with a 
ray of light, with a gleam of the spring.” 

“ How poetical you are,” said Barbara, smiling 
with the utmost frankness and pleasure. 

“Ami.? I think I have got a lot of poetry in 
me somewhere. By the way, why does your pocket 
bulge so ? ” 


Princess Potentilla, 77 

“ Because I have got a book in it — one of Tenny- 
son’s.” 

“ Tennyson ? Who is he ? ” 

“ Hero, you don’t mean to tell me that you don’t 
know Tennyson ! ” 

“ Not I. I never heard his name before.” 

“He is dead now,” said Barbara ; “ but when he 
was alive he was quite the greatest poet of the 
century.” 

“ Of this century } ” 

“ Yes ; this century.” 

“ And that book ? ” 

“It is called ‘ Enoch Arden.’ I am learning 
it by heart. I was to have recited part of it at 
the High School ; but now all that sort of thing is 
at an end. The poem is very pretty; I have read 
it dozens of times.” 

“ I suppose,” said Hero, colouring — “ perhaps it 
is too much to ask — but if you could bring yourself 
to lend the book to me ? ” 

“ Lend it you } Of course, I will.” 

“ How very kind and delicious of you. Already 
I am loving you better than Frisk. You don’t know 
what a real treat it will be. You shall have it safely 
back when you come to the Gables. By the way, 
when do you come ? ” 

“ I don’t quite know ; perhaps not for some weeks 
yet,” answered Barbara, frowning as the thought of 
her trouble returned to her. 

“ Well, I shall come to the stile every day until 
I see you again. Good-bye, Barbara. Good-bye, 
my dear, nice peep -of- the- world, my gleam of the 
spring.” 

Barbara laughed, kissed her hand to Hero, and 
ran quickly back to the cottage. 


CHAPTER VII. 


STOLEN VISITS. 

" I SHALL get up very early to-morrow morning,’* 
said Clementcy. 

The time of year was June; the days were 
at their longest ; the weather was perfect, with a 
lazy sort of feeling about it. In the middle of the 
day the birds were silent, only the bees continued to 
hum and the gnats kept up a tuneful little sighing 
movement as they flew backwards and forwards 
under the thick trees. # 

The four Underhill girls were all seated on the 
tiny lawn in front of the little drawing-room at the 
Gables. Clementcy had ensconced herself on the 
grass, with her legs tucked comfortably under her. 
Ursula was in a hammock, which she had fastened to 
the low bough of a tree which stood not far away ; 
Rosamond was leaning back in a deck-chair, and 
Barbara, with her knees nearly hitched up to her ears, 
was devouring an ancient copy of Don Quixote.” 
Barbara’s cheeks were flushed and her eyes wore 
their usual half-comical, half-rebellious expression. 
The other three girls looked contented^ealthy, and 
very happy. ^ 

“ I shall get up quite early to-morrow,” repeated 
Clementcy ; “ about four.” 

“How absurd!” cried Barbara — she flung her 
book, face downwards, on the grass. “What will 
not a farm girl do I Why must you leave your bed 
at that unearthly, heathenish hour^ Clementcy ? ” 


Stolen Visits. 


79 

‘'Because just about then the first batch of 
chickens will be hatched,” was the earnest reply. 

Barbara gave a snort of indignation. 

“ The idea of losing several hours of slumber for 
the sake of chickens,” she said after a pause. 

“ I would do a great deal more than that,” replied 
Clementcy, “ to see the first chick crack its egg and 
come out. I never saw chickens come out of their 
eggs before, and Betty says the time will be up 
to-morrow morning. Rose, darling, you don’t mind 
my getting up to see the chicks, do you ? ” 

“No, Clementcy, just for once — that is, if you 
promise faithfully to go back to bed again after you 
have seen them.” 

“ But I shan’t want to do that, the time will be 
so lovely in the early morning with the dew on 
the flowers.” 

“And Clementcy will be pale and good for nothing 
in the evening,” retorted Rosamond. “ Look here, 
we will make a bargain. If you get up, you must 
promise to go straight back to bed again. I too want 
to see the chicks come out of their eggs, so I will 
wake you at four, and we will both go down to the 
hen-house and see the sight.” 

“ That will be heavenly ! ” said Clementcy. 

“You may as well wake me too,” cried Ursula. 
“ Oh ! ” she continued, “ how I do love this farm life ! 
how sweet everything looks ! Rosamond, you have 
never told us yet how much it cost to furnish 
this cottage.” 

“ Exactly fifty pounds,” said Rosamond ; “ and I 
do think,” she added, “ we managed well — don’t you, 
Barbara ? ” 

“ Managed well, how } ” asked Barbara, who had 
returned once more to her book. “ Oh, about the 
.furnishing,” she added; “yes, I suppose it is all right.” 


8o 


Merry Girls of England, 


Rosamond gave utterance to a very slight sigh 
and then, rising from her comfortable chair, she went 
slowly into the house. 

It would have been difficult now for anyone 
who had seen that same house three months ago 
to recognise it. All Rosamond Underhill’s latent 
power had come out in the arranging of the little 
cottage. The low, old-fashioned drawing-room with 
its polished floor looked as fresh, as sweet, in short, 
as like the ideal “ love in a cottage ” as such a room 
could possibly appear. The wide bay window was 
draped in book muslin. Roses, clematis, myrtles, 
peeped in at the open doors. A great old china-bowl 
occupied the -central position of an old-fashioned 
table, and was filled up to the brim with roses. A 
table prepared for afternoon tea stood in one corner 
of the room, and just at this moment Sarah, who had 
cast in her lot with the girls, appeared bearing a 
kettle and a teapot. 

“ The afternoon is so fine that we would like to 
have tea on the lawn, Sarah,” said Rosamond. 

Sarah put down her kettle and teapot and lifted 
the little table on to the grass plot without a word. 

“ I have made some hot cakes, miss,’^ she said 
then, “ and of course you will have cream, and would 
the young ladies like fresh eggs ? ” 

“Not to-day, thank you,” replied Rosamond. 
“ We are only expecting Miss Chevening to tea ; no 
one else is coming.” 

“Well, I have got a nice basket of fresh straw- 
berries,” continued Sarah. “You shall have straw- 
berries and cream — after all, nothing could be better.” 

“ Certainly not,” replied Rosamond, but do not 
forget, Sarah, “ that tjj[is is our last week of plenty of 
cream ; when the new churn comes, and the new cow, 
we must begin the butter-making in earnest.” 


Stolen Visits, 


8i 


'‘Yes, miss — the new churn will be down to-night, 
and also the machine for separating the cream from 
the milk.” 

“How I am longing for next week!” said 
Rosamond enthusiastically. “I feel as if our real 
farm life will begin then.” 

“Well,” said Sarah, “I may as well own that the 
whole thing is very interesting. I know perfectly 
well that you will sell the best butter and the freshest 
eggs in all the country-side.” 

“And you are with me heart and soul, are you 
not } ” said Rosamond, turning affectionately to the 
maid. 

“ I am that, miss. I always took to you, Miss 
Rosamond, ever since the day ” 

“ Oh, yes, I know,” interrupted Rosamond ; “ and 
you remember our bargain,” she added : “ you are to 
have a certain share of the profits.” 

“ I don’t forget it. Miss Rosamond, but I’m not 
specially thinking of that just now. I may as well 
own that I am proud to serve you. I loved you from 
the moment you took Miss Clementcy in your arms, 
and carried her into my dear mistress’s presence. I 
have cast in my lot with you, miss, and the other 
young ladies. It seems to me there is only one 
crook in the whole thing, and that is ” 

Rosamond did not speak ; her eyes suddenly fell. 

“And you share the thought with me, miss,” con- 
tinued the maid. “ The one crook in the lot is Miss 
Barbara ; why she don’t like it, I can’t say, but like it 
she never will.” 

“Well, never mind about her now,” interrupted 
Rosamond. “Tell the young ladies, please, Sarah, 
that I will be with them on the lawn in five minutes.” 

She left the pretty little drawing-room and, passing 
through the queer, very cool dining-room beyond, ran 
F 


82 


Merry Girls of England. 


upstairs to her own room. Everywhere all over the 
old-fashioned house there was peace and order. 
Rosamond’s room can only be described as a bird’s 
nest. It might be dark and dreary in winter, but now, 
in the height of summer, no little nest could be more 
charming. The scent from hundreds of wild flowers 
was wafted in through the open window — clematis, 
sweet-brier, Virginia creeper, all encircled its open 
frame. Rosamond’s bird in its gilded cage was 
hanging outside and piping lustily. Rosamond flung 
herself on her knees by the window, rested her elbows 
on the sill, and looked out with a dreamy sensation of 
perfect peace and happiness in her heart. 

“I am about the luckiest girl in the world,” she 
reflected ; “ the farm is not only delightful, but I think 
it will pay. By-and-by, when I have saved a little 
money, I may be able to give Barbara and Ursula 
and Clementcy some of the advantages of a more 
all-round education. As to myself, I am more than 
content to be just a woman farmer all my days — but 
the others ! I should like them to have the best of 
everything ; Barbara in particular. Oh, if Bab would 
only be content to stay on here, I should not have a 
sorrow in my lot ! ” 

She sighed. At that moment the creaking noise 
of the little wicket gate being opened arrested her 
attention. She poked her head out of the window, and 
saw Hero coming up the path. She walked quickly, 
as was her wont ; her short cotton frock was as shabby 
as ever, she wore an old sailor-hat pushed far back on 
her curly head, her dress was too small for her, and her 
whole get-up was bizarre in the extreme ; but nothing 
could take the life and charm from her beautiful face. 

“ Poor child ! ” thought Rosamond ; “ how badly 
treated she is at home, and how much she enjoys 
coming here ! I am more obliged to Hero than I can 





“ROSAMOND PULLED A ROSE” (A 83). 


Stolen V/s/ts, 


83 

describe, for I think if anyone will make Barbara 
contented with the Gables she is the one. Only here, 
too,” she added, “ there is a tiny trouble, for Hero’s 
are stolen visits.” 

She ran downstairs, smoothing out as she did so 
her fair curling hair, and straightening her cotton 
frock until it was the perfection of neatness. As she 
passed through the drawing-room she pulled a rose 
from amongst the cluster which grew round the 
window, and fastened it into the belt of her dress. 
When she stepped out on the lawn she made a 
perfect picture of sweet young English girlhood. 

Barbara had now forgotten all about her book, 
which was flung, face downwards, at a little distance 
on the grass plot. She was talking to Hero, who, 
standing up, was gesticulating with her usual freedom 
of action. 

“Oh, is that you, Rosamond.?” Hero cried, running 
up to the elder girl and kissing her first on one cheek 
and then on the other. “ I am so glad to see you, 
but I have come to say that in all probability this is 
the very last time I shall have tea with you. Oh, how 
delicious everything looks ! I smell the strawberries 
from here.” 

“ But you have lots of strawberries at the Hall,” 
said Rosamond. 

“ How can you compare them .? Could you eat 
strawberries with ‘ Prunes and Prism ’ sitting opposite 
you. Could you enjoy fresh fruit when each moment 
the only subjects of conversation are reproaches flung 
at you ? ‘ My dear Hero, Jioiu awkward ! ’ ‘ Excuse me. 
Hero, I really cannot permit this conduct’ ‘ Hero, it 
is unladylike to eat fruit so quickly.’ Oh, Rosamond, 
you know the style — you must know it — and it goes 
on for ever, and ever, and ever.” 

“ It must be trying, I admit,” said Rosamond, 
F 2 


84 Merry Girls of England. 

“ but what about not coming here again ? I wish you 
would sit down, Hero,” she continued; “you will find 
that deck-chair most comfortable.” 

“Thanks, but I am too excited to sit. It was 
this morning the storm broke. Mrs. Gunning missed 
me yesterday and asked me where I had been. I 
told her such a nice whopper, and I thought at the 
time she believed me.” 

“ What is a whopper ? ” interrupted Clementcy. 

“ Oh, Hero ! you ought not,” said Rosamond, 
shaking her head. 

“That is no proper way of getting out of your 
difficulties,” said Barbara, in a stout and somewhat 
cross voice. 

“ Isn’t it } How you all do round on me. Well, all 
I can say is this : if you were in my shoes, you would 
be reduced to the necessity of telling whoppers, too. 
Gunning asked me how I spent all my spare time — 
she means the time while she naps every day, and I 
told her ” 

“What?” asked Ursula. 

“Well, I said I went to Frisk’s grave and 
arranged fresh flowers and cried over my dog.” 

Rosamond looked grave, but Clementcy began 
to laugh. 

“ The fact is this,” continued Hero : “ Mrs. Gunning 
thinks that the be-all and end-all of a woman’s life is 
to do fine needlework — ‘plain sewing’ is what she calls 
it. She always gives me a seam to sew, or a great, 
long, tiresome, interminable, turned- down hem to 
finish when she goes for her nap. She expects the 
work to be done when she returns. Now of late the 
work has not been done. I have found the Gables 
much more interesting than the long straight seam 
or the turned-down hem, so I come here every 
day, and Gunning begins to suspect the truth.” 


Stolen Visits. 85 

“ What does she say ? Do tell us all about it,” 
said Barbara. 

Hero was now sufficiently calm to condescend to 
fling herself into the deck-chair. 

“ How comfortable you are here ! ” she said. I 
breathe here ; this to me is the world. What a 
delicious place to live in ! Oh, dear, I sometimes feel 
as if I could drown myself when I think of the useless 
miseries to which Gunning subjects me.” 

“But your story,” said Rosamond in her gentle voice. 

As she spoke she approached the neatly-arranged 
tea-table and began to pour out cups of fragrant tea. 
Cream was added, and Clementcy began to hand 
round the cups. Then the little girl fetched some tiny 
tables from the drawing-room, and each girl helped 
herself to strawberries, to which she added cream. 

“Now, while you prepare your strawberries, do 
speak,” said Barbara. 

“Well,” said Hero, “a sort of climax came this 
morning. I went through my lessons as usual. I had 
finished my odious task out of ‘ Magnall’s Questions,’ 
and had repeated a French verb, and then I played 
one or two of my pieces, ‘ Les Cloches du Monastere ’ 
and ‘ La Priere d’une Vierge,’ and a thing by a man 
called Brindley Richards ; I think it is called ‘ I Stood 
on the Bridge at Midnight.’ You know the poem, of 
course. There is a tune, and then a lot of variations, oh, 
so commonplace ! I thought I was playing rather better 
than usual, but Gunning evidently did not agree with 
me ; she stopped me suddenly by slapping my fingers 
quite fiercely with a little ruler she held in her hand, 
and then said, ‘ Hero, I must out with the truth ; I 
suspect you.’ 

“‘You are always suspecting me, Mrs. Gunning,’ 
I answered ; ‘ there is nothing fresh in that.’ 

“ ‘ You are capable of downright deceit,’ said Mrs. 


86 


Merry Girls of England. 


Gunning. ‘I may as well say also that I have 
discovered you.’ 

“ I tried to raise my eyebrows and to pull down 
the corners of my mouth, but, for all that, I began to 
feel slightly uneasy. There was no use showing it to 
Gunning, however, so I crossed my hands demurely 
on my lap and said — 

“ ‘ Of what sin am I guilty ? ’ 

“ Oh, how angry she got ! She could not speak 
for a moment, then out she burst with the thought 
that was torturing her. 

“ ‘ What do you do when I am in my room every 
afternoon ; during the short time I give myself for 
reading and study, how do you spend your time V 
** Oh, how I stared at her. Old humbug ! much 
reading and studying she does — she simply throws 
herself on her bed and snores for two hours. But 
when I saw that she told a big whopper I thought I’d 
tell one too, so I said — 

“ ‘ You know the grief I have lately undergone ? ’ 

“ ‘ I certainly do not,’ she replied. ‘ It seems to me 
that if there is a girl in the wide world who has no 
trouble at all, you are the one. Hero Chevening.’ 

“ ‘ There are some sorrows too sacred for words,’ 1 
answered, ‘ and mine is one. I allude to the death of 
my faithful dog. Frisk.’ 

“ ‘ Oh, don’t talk folly to me,’ said Mrs. Gunning. 
‘ Answer my question immediately : what do you do 
during the two hours that I am in my room ? ’ 

“‘I go to visit Frisk’s grave,’ I answered; ‘I put 
fresh flowers over it. Then I sit on the mound and 
think of my blessed one, no longer worried by the 
cats, no longer submitting to the indignity of being 
turned out of the drawing-room on cold nights.’ 

“‘Hero, Hero,’ said Mrs. Gunning, ‘if only your 
grandmother could hear you ! ’ 


Stolen Visits. 87 

“ * I don’t mind in the least whether Grannie hears 
me or not,’ I answered. 

“ She went quite pink when I said that, particu- 
larly in the tip of her nose. Then after a pause she 
continued — 

“ ‘ I have found you out. I did not examine your 
needlework for some weeks, being quite assured that 
you were doing your appointed task. Yesterday I 
went into the schoolroom and took up the work- 
basket. To my horror I discovered that nothing 
whatever had been done. Not a stitch had been put 
in the table-cloths and sheets which I gave you to 
hem since the last time I examined them. That, 
Hero, is exactly three weeks ago. If you spend the 
time that you ought to give to needlework at your 
dog’s grave, you do very wrong, and I must forbid 
it, but I fear your conduct is much worse than 
that.’ 

“ * Oh, believe what you like,’ I said, and then I 
jumped up and ran out of the schoolroom before she 
could catch me. The dinner-bell rang almost im- 
mediately, and we went down to dinner. Grannie 
was there as usual. You know, of course, that we 
always dine with Grannie. She looks so sleepy while 
she is having her dinner, and hardly ever makes a 
remark, and she certainly made none to-day, though 
Mrs. Gunning asked her, in her odiously affectionate 
way, how she felt. When dinner was over Gunning 
went straight up to me, took my arm, and marched 
me back to the schoolroom. Then she said, ‘Here 
is your seam, which you are to sew from one end 
to the other ; it is a long seam, quite three yards in 
length, and it will take all your time. Your dog’s 
grave has to be neglected to-day!’ Then she 
marched out of the room, turned the key in the lock, 
and slipped it into her pocket. 


Merry Girls of England, 


88 


“ Poor old Gunning ! she little knows Hero 
Chevening. I waited for a bit until I heard the lock 
of her own room turn, and then I slipped out of the 
window and let myself down to the ground by means 
of the wistaria which covers all that part of the 
house. Well, girls, and here I am. Of course, it is 
extremely likely to be the last time, but as I am here 
do let us be as jolly as possible. Clementcy, come 
and sit on my knee ? ” 

“I will with pleasure, Hero,” replied Clementcy. 

Do you know,” she added, as she ensconced herself 
comfortably with one arm round Hero’s neck, “that 
we are going to have a lot of little chicks out 
to-morrow morning. I shall call one of them after 
you, Hero, if you like.” 

“ What a delightful compliment,” said Bar- 
bara. 

“ I think it a great compliment,” said Hero brightly. 
“ I shall love you to do it, Clementcy. Be sure you 
call the stoutest and the most valiant of the chicks 
after me. I hope it may thrive, for if it thrives, I 
shall thrive.” 

Clementcy put her other arm round Hero’s neck 
and pressed her soft lips to Hero’s velvet cheeks, and 
Hero lay back in her deck-chair, and the reckless 
expression left her face. 

“The life she leads is dreadful for her,” thought 
Rosamond. “Why should she not be allowed to go 
about with other girls — why should she not have a 
little real pleasure ? There must be a mystery 
somewhere. I do wish I knew that old grand- 
mother.” 

Meanwhile tea proceeded merrily. The straw- 
berries soon disappeared, the hot cakes and toast also 
vanished — the teapot was drained dry, and no cream 
was left in the cream jug. The girls got lazily out of 


Stolen Visits. 


89 

their different seats, and as the sun was now sinking 
towards the west, Rosamond proposed that they 
should have a game of tennis. 

Hero had never even seen tennis until she came to 
know the Underhill girls. She was excited about it, 
as most beginners are, and was all too eager to join. 
The net was arranged, and the girls were just be- 
ginning their game when the little wicket gate was 
suddenly opened, and an elderly, stout, cross-looking 
lady was seen walking up the path. 

“ Gunning, as I am alive ! ” cried Hero ; her 
rosy face turned visibly paler. “ I cannot face 
her,” she said, turning to Rosamond ; “ she would 
be too insulting before you all. Where shall I 
hide?” 

“ Come with me ; we’ll go to the fowl-house,” said 
Clementcy. 

Hero and Clementcy vanished like a flash of 
lightning. 

Meanwhile, Mrs. Gunning had been shown by the 
sedate Sarah into the pretty little drawing-room. 
From there she had an excellent view of the lawn, 
with the tennis net arranged and the girls apparently 
busy with their game. She peered out eagerly — she 
had hoped to see Hero in their midst — she had hoped 
to bring Hero to open shame, but there was no 
sign whatever of her pupil. 

Rosamond entered the room. 

“You are Miss Underhill, I think?” said Mrs. 
Gunning, rising as she spoke. “You must pray 
excuse my calling; I have come to. speak to you on 
an important matter.” 

“My name is Rosamond Underhill,” replied 
Rosamond. 

Mrs. Gunning stared at Rosamond from the top 
of her neat head to her pretty little shoes. 


90 Merry Girls of England, 

“I am told that you farm this place,” she said. 
“ Can it be true ? ” 

“It is perfectly true. I am sorry tea is just 
over, but I can get you a fresh cup immediately, 
if you like.” 

“ No, thank you, I have not come to tea. Miss 
Underhill, I have called to ask you a straight 
question.” 

“ What is that ? ” asked Rosamond. 

“ Has my pupil. Hero Chevening, been here this 
afternoon > ” 

Rosamond coloured, then after a moment’s hesita- 
tion, she said gently — 

“ Hero comes here sometimes ; she has been here 
to-day.” 

Mrs. Gunning stood up ; her face became a vivid 
scarlet. 

“ I thought as much,” she cried with passion, “ and 
you tell me so coolly, too. What would her grand- 
mother say, if she knew ? Was there ever such a 
wicked, deceitful girl ! I shall punish her well for 
this. She shall be locked in her bedroom, and have 
nothing but bread and water for a week. Pray tell 
me where she is now.” 

“ I will fetch her, if you will wait a moment,” said 
Rosamond ; “but I am puzzled to know,” she added, 
pausing and looking very directly at the angry lady, 
“what harm comes to Hero by associating with my 
sisters and myself .? Although we do farm this place, 
we are ladies — we are not likely to do Hero any harm.” 

“ That is not the question ; ' she comes without 
leave. She is never to come here again ; have the 
goodness to fetch her immediately.” 

Rosamond left the room — her heart was beating 
with indignation. In the dining-room she met 
Barbara. 


Stolen Visits. 91 

What are you going to do, Rosamond ? ” asked 
Barbara. 

“ There is nothing whatever for me to do, Barbara, 
but to fetch poor Hero ; Mrs. Gunning has come for 
her, and I had to tell her she was here.” 

“Then you betrayed her — how horrid of you. 
Rose ! ” 

“ I could not tell a lie, Barbara ; you know that 
perfectly well.” 

“And now you intend to bring Hero to Mrs. 
Gunning ? ” 

“ I am obliged — there is no help for it.” 

“You can save yourself the trouble. Go back to 
that delightful woman, and tell her that Hero is no 
longer here.” 

“ But she was a few minutes ago.” 

“You don’t suppose she would wait to go home 
with Gunning? She has returned to the Hall. Oh 
dear, poor Hero ! I don’t think I can quite stand 
the thought of the treatment that dreadful Gunning 
will subject her to. Just stay in this room for a 
moment or two, until I ” 

“ Until you what, Barbara?” 

“ Until I follow Hero. I shall go to her to the 
Hall. I love her better every day, and I am deter- 
mined to help her. You cannot keep me, Rosamond 
— I am going.” 

Barbara snatched up her hat and rushed away. 
Rosamond waited for a moment, with a look of 
perplexity on her face, then she returned to Mrs. 
Gunning. 

“ Hero was here,” she said, “ but I cannot find her 
now. I believe she has returned to the Hall.” 

“She feared that I should catch her — ^just like her, 
the little coward,” said Mrs. Gunning. “Well, Miss 
Underhill, I will wish you good afternoon ; I must 


92 


Merry Girls or England. 


follow my refractory pupil immediately. Please 
clearly understand that if she comes here again, she 
does so as a direct act of disobedience ; if you receive 
her, and encourage her, you do so at your own risk. 
What Hero’s grandmother will say when I tell her 
what has occurred I have no words to describe.” 


CHAPTER VHI. 

THE NEST BEHIND THE HAYSTACK. 

Meanwhile Barbara was running as fast as her feet 
could carry her over the dusty road. She soon 
reached the stile where she had seen Hero on the 
first day of her visit to the Gables. She mounted it 
and ran down a shady walk under some overhanging 
elms ; this walk presently brought her to another 
turnstile, which led into a wood. A few moments 
later Barbara found herself in the grounds of the Hall 
itself She stood still and looked around her. There 
was not a soul in sight. It was just the quietest 
hour of the twenty-four ; the birds were resting from 
their song, the squirrels and rabbits were sleeping 
after their midday meal, even the gnats had almost 
ceased to hum. 

“ If only I could find out where she has gone,” she 
thought to herself “ I love her too much to hand 
her over to the tender mercies of that dreadful old 
Gunning. Dear Hero ! what a splendid girl she 
might be, if only she had the smallest opportunity. 
Why should she be made a prisoner in this place ? 
Of course, it is a beautiful place, but Hero does not 
lead a beautiful life. Can there be anything more 


The Nest Behind the Haystack. 93 

innocent than her visits to us ? Why is it wrong for 
her to come ? ” 

At this moment there came a very low whistle, it 
almost seemed to sound in Barbara’s ear. She 
turned abruptly. A little summer-house, which she 
had not before observed, stood just at the entrance 
to the wood. Barbara ran to it, peeped in, and saw 
Hero leaning up against the rustic wall. 

“ I thought it was you, Bab,” she said. “ Why 
have you followed me ? You will only get yourself 
into fresh trouble.” 

“ I shall share your trouble,” answered Barbara, 
“ and that will be a comfort.” 

Hero was not the sort of girl who ever gave way 
to tears, but at this moment her blue eyes grew 
soft, her red lips trembled, and she put one of her 
small shapely hands on Barbara’s arm. 

“ I know a hiding-place,” she said in a low 
whisper, “ which even Gunning has not discovered. 
Let us make for it at once and talk things over.” 

“ That is what I have come to do,” said Barbara. 

“ Follow me then, and do not speak a word.” 

Hero took one of Barbara’s hands, and the girls 
left the shelter of the little wood. They had to cross 
an open field, and then to hurry down a neglected 
side path. After five minutes’ quick running they 
found themselves in Hero’s shelter. It was nothing 
more nor less than a nest which she had dug out for 
herself at the back of one of last year’s haystacks. 

“ My dear little shelter won’t last long,” she said 
disconsolately. “ The horses will soon eat it all up. 
It gets thinner every day ; but no one as yet has 
thought of coming round to the back of the stack, and, 
until someone does, I feel safe from annoyance here. 
See, Bab, I have quite fitted up my little nest. 
Here is a shelf where I put the precious books you 


94 


Merry Girls of England. 


lend me. Sometimes the mice come out, and there 
are two rats with whom I have become quite on 
friendly terms. I call them Rap and Snap, and I 
feed them with crumbs from my pocket. They won’t 
venture out this afternoon, because you are here. 
Now let us nestle cosily down and have a good talk.” 

“ I am glad you have a shelter like this,” said 
Barbara. “ If I had known about it before, I could 
-have come to see you, and you need not have come 
to us so often.” 

“But it is much more refreshing and a greater 
change for me to come to see you. You don’t suppose 
I intend to stop away just because Gunning found 
me out to-day } ” 

“ Of course. Hero, I should be delighted to see 
you,” answered Barbara ; “ but then Rosamond is 
dreadfully particular. She is always thinking of 
what is right and what is wrong. She won’t think 
it right to receive you if Mrs. Gunning disapproves.” 

Hero gave vent to an impatient exclamation. 

“ Once for all,” she said, “ I will not promise to 
obey Gunning. It is war to the knife between us. 
The fact is,” she continued, “ I don’t think I can 
stand the life much longer. Before I met you I did 
make a sort of effort to be contented ; but now — now 
that I know what the world really is ” 

“ But you have not met the world at our house, 
poor Hero.” 

“ No ! Don’t you think so } It seems like it to 
me. 

“ It just shows how little you know. You could 
not call our strawberry parties, and just the society of 
Rosamond, and Ursula, and Clementcy, and myself, 
the world. Even the High School which I used to 
attend at Charlton taught me better than that. Oh, 
Hero, darling, there is a great lovely world somewhere, 


The Nest Behind the Haystack. 95 

and girls like you — girls with beautiful faces, are not 
persecuted in it. They are petted and made much of. 
Oh ! I have read about it, and have longed to join it. 
In the real world there are tennis parties, and dances, 
and river parties, and fun of all sorts, and then some 
day someone like the Prince comes along.” 

“Yes, I think about him,” said Hero, her eyes 
growing dark and thoughtful. “ He is my last and 
only chance ; but I am only fifteen. The Prince 
won’t worry about me for many a long day.” 

“You will have to get out of your prison some- 
how,” said Barbara. “He is sure to come for you 
some day because you are so beautiful. For my part, 
I don’t wish for him. I do not intend ever to marry. 
I mean to ” 

“ What, Bab ? ” said Hero. She bent forward 
and looked eagerly into her little companion’s face. 
“ What do you mean to do ? ” 

“ Perhaps — I am not sure,” said Barbara, her eyes 
kindling — “perhaps towrite books,even poetry perhaps, 
but prose certainly, or books of travel. Anyhow, I 
mean to write a book which will live — which people 
will talk about. There will be reviews in the papers 
— criticisms they call them — and some of them will 
cut me up, and others will praise me, and the book 
will sell, and sell, and sell, and money will pour in, 
and people will look at me when I enter a room, or 
when I drive out in the Park. They will say some- 
thing like this, ‘See, that is the girl who wrote 
“ Disenchantment,” ’ or whatever name I call my 
book. Hero, that is my dream of dreams, and now 
I have told it to you. To be successful— greatly 
successful in one clever thing — to be spoken about, 
to wear a sort of invisible crown — that is what I 
want. I don’t care about any Prince. Fll leave 
him to you.” 


96 Merry Girls of England. 

“ How queerly you talk,” said Hero, laughing. 
“ It is delightful to listen to you. Now let me think. 
If Rosamond won’t allow me to come to the Gables 
again, we must contrive some plan by which we 
can meet. Don’t talk to me for a moment, let me 
think hard.” 

Hero pressed both her hands to her hot cheeks. 
After a time she looked up. 

“ Are you good at climbing ? ” she asked. 

“ Climbing ! What do you mean ? ” 

“ Exactly what I say. There is an attic, a large 
attic, which is over my bedroom. No one ever goes 
there because it is said to be haunted. If you could 
manage to climb up, and I think I could help you, 
we could meet there whenever we liked.” 

“ But how could you help me ? ” 

“ Would you be afraid of a ladder of ropes } ” 

“ A ladder of ropes ! Hero, you are quite 
mediaeval ; what do you mean ? ” 

“ I know how to make one ; and I could slip it 
down from the window the last thing at night, and 
fasten it, of course, very securely to the window ledge. 
Then you might climb up. The really great danger 
would be in going down again, but, after all, and for 
the sake of friendship, the thing might be managed. 
There is a great big arm of wistaria which climbs 
all over that part of the house, and you can cling on 
to the wistaria while you are coming up the ladder. 
When you get to the top we would pull the ladder up. 
If any noise was heard, people would say the ghost 
was walking again.” 

“We will make her walk,” said Barbara, her eyes 
sparkling ; “ what fun the whole thing sounds ! I 
declare, Hero, you are turning me into a naughty, 
mischievous schoolgirl.” 

“ All the better for you, my love,” answered Hero. 


The Nest behind the Haystack. gf 

“ And now perhaps you had better go. If I have to 
meet the storm of Gunning’s anger, I must get it 
over as quickly as possible. If you come here to- 
morrow night I will have the ladder of ropes ready, 
and will wait for you in the attic.” 

“ At what hour shall I come ? ” 

“Do not be earlier than ten o’clock. If you are 
under the window at ten everything will be ready. 
Gunning always goes to bed early.” 

“ And we go to bed early, too,” answered Barbara ; 
“ Rosamond is very particular on that point. I shall 
have to deceive her if I come to you.” 

“Well, you must manage that as you please. 
The ladder of ropes shall be waiting, and I will 
expect you.” 

When Barbara reached home she found Rosamond 
in a great state of excitement. 

“Well, Barbara,” she said eagerly, “did you find 
Hero ? ” 

“ I did, and I have had a talk with her.” 

“ I hope you told her that she must not come here 
any more.” 

“ I told her that I feared you would not allow her 
to come, Rosamond ; I think it is awfully hard on 
her.” 

“ It is hard, I admit,” said Rosamond ; “ but what 
is to be done .? Barbara, I cannot get her out of my 
head, and do you know, I have formed a daring 
idea.” 

“ You have formed a daring idea } ” said Bar- 
bara. 

“ Yes, little as you think that I could do so ; I 
have made up my mind to beard the lioness in 
her den.” 

“What lioness ? ” 

“ Why old Mrs. Chevening herself.** 

G 


98 


Merry Girls of England, 


“ You don’t mean it ! ” 

« I do.” 

“Well, then, you may just as well spare yourself 
the trouble. Everyone says that [nothing will induce 
Mrs. Chevening to see strangers. Even Hero only 
spends half an hour every day at dinner with her 
grandmother. Mrs. Chevening seems to be in bad 
health, or to be very odd, or something or other, and 
Hero is afraid of her. How do you think it possible, 
Rosamond, that you, a stranger, can have an 
interview with her } ” 

“ I can but try,” answered Rosamond. “ I sincerely 
pity Hero, and there seems to me to be no other way 
of helping her.” 

“ Do you intend to go by yourself? ” 

“Yes, that would be best.” 

“Well, all I can say is, you are very plucky. I 
really don’t think I’d have nerve enough. When are 
you going .? ” 

“ This evening ; at once, in fact : there is no time 
for delay. I pity Hero. If Hero is left to the tender 
mercies of Mrs. Gunning she will be ruined. I don’t 
think it right to allow her to come here against the 
wishes of her grandmother and governess, but at the 
same time our society would do her a great deal of 
good. My idea is that if I can see Mrs. Chevening I 
may be able to persuade her that such is the case. 
She may give Hero permission to spend a part of 
every day with us, and then I think our cause will 
be won.” 

“It certainly would be splendid,” said Barbara; 
“ but I, for my part, have very little hope.” 

“You are very fond of Hero, are you not, 
Bab.?” 

“ I love her,” answered Barbara. 

“ Well, you know, Bab, it is not real love to help 


The Nest behind the Haystaoc. gg 

her to be deceitful. At present things seem to 
me to be quite wrong. I do not know of any possible 
way of putting things right except by seeing Mrs. 
Chevening.” 

“You can but try,” said Barbara, “only of course 
I don’t suppose you’ll succeed for a moment.” 

Rosamond said nothing further ; she went into the 
dairy to superintend the setting of the night’s supply 
of milk, and Barbara ran off to her own room. 

She and Rosamond, as the two elder girls, each 
possessed a bird’s nest to sleep in. Barbara’s bird’s 
nest had no entrance except through Rosamond’s 
tiny bedroom. The two younger girls occupied the 
long low modern room which had been built over 
the drawing-room. Barbara now went into her own 
bird’s nest, shut and locked the door, opened the 
window, flung herself on her knees, and looked out. 
From here she could get a distant view of the Hall 
with its turreted roofs, its stately pile of building, and 
its thick woods at the back. 

“ Why should there be such a beautiful place and 
a girl so miserable in it } ” she reflected. “ The more I 
think over matters the more I am certain that I am 
the only one who can really liberate poor Hero. As 
to Rosamond’s idea of seeing Mrs. Chevening, that 
is simply nonsense. Dear Rosamond, she is the 
best girl in the world, but so painfully, painfully 
matter-of fact.” 


LofC. 


CHAPTER IX. 


BEARDING THE LIONESS. 

When Rosamond had concluded her work in the 
dairy, she ran upstairs, put on her neat black Sunday, 
hat, a black scarf and gloves, and taking up her 
parasol went out. Just at the little rustic gate she 
met her two younger sisters. 

Are you going for a walk ? Do let us come 
with you,” they both cried. 

“ Not to-night,” she answered, “ I want to be alone 
to-night.” 

“ What for ; is it anything special ? ” asked 
Clementcy. 

“ It is something very special, Clem ; I want to get 
a poor little prisoner outside her prison bars.” 

“ Oh, then I know. How delighted I am ; you are 
going to do what you can for dear Hero.” 

“ Yes, what I can.” 

“You will bring her back with you 

“ Not to-night, but I hope she may come some- 
times. I may fail in my undertaking, but I am going 
to try to do my best.” 

Ursula raised her rosebud lips to kiss her sister, 
and Clementcy gave Rosamond a hearty hug. 

“ Go to bed now both of you,” said Rosamond. 
“ You know you are going to be up early to-morrow.” 

“Oh, those chicks, I shan’t sleep a wink,” said the 
youngest girl. She danced down the little walk, and 
Rosamond turned quickly in the direction of the 
dusty high road. 


Bearding the Lioness. ioi 

She walked for nearly half a mile, and then she 
came to the lodge gates. She had never before ven- 
tured inside the grounds of the Hall. A woman at the 
lodge ran out to open the gate, and stared very hard 
at her as she went in. 

“ It is nearly a mile to the house, miss,” she said ; 
“ I don’t know if you are going there.” 

“ I am,” said Rosamond ; “ I want to see Mrs. 
Chevening.” 

“It is only right to tell you, miss, that Mrs. 
Chevening never sees visitors.” 

“ She may see me, at any rate I am going to try.” 

The woman gave her a look which was partly 
wistful and partly curious. 

“ It is such as you that our poor young lady 
should have as a friend,” she remarked to Rosamond, 
“ but there’s no getting round Mrs. Chevening ; she 
has her own ideas, and no one living can change 
her.” 

Rosamond made no reply to this, but began to 
walk quickly up the avenue. 

She reached the house at the end of twenty 
minutes’ hard walking, and going up the steep steps 
which led to the front door, pulled the ponderous old 
iron bell. It was evidently a long time since the bell 
had been sounded, for it seemed to awaken echoes in 
all directions. 

After a short interval the door was thrown open 
by no less a person than Mrs. Gunning herself. 

Mrs. Gunning stared very hard at Rosamond. 
Rosamond felt her cheeks turning crimson. 

“Well,” said the governess, “and what have you 
come for ? ” 

“To see Mrs. Chevening; can she give me a few 
minutes ?” 

“ She cannot give you a single one ; she never sees 


102 Merry Girls of England. 

visitors. If you have a message for her, you must 
convey it through me.” 

“I cannot do that,” said Rosamond in a very steady 
voice ; “ I must see her myself or not at all. 1 wish 
you could manage that I might spend five minutes in 
her company. I would promise not to agitate or 
annoy her in the least. Perhaps you would be so 
very kind ! ” 

“ I shall not be so very kind, my little friend,” said 
Mrs. Gunning, her face flushed, and an angry light 
came into her small eyes. “ I know all about what 
you have come for. Miss Underhill. You want that 
naughty, disobedient granddaughter of hers to visit 
you whenever she pleases, in order that you may 
teach her to be as insubordinate as you probably 
are yourself. You have found out that you can- 
not get round me with soft words, and you 
made up your mind to come straight to the fountain- 
head — it is clever of you, but it will not pay, let 
me tell you.” 

Whatever the end of Mrs. Gunning’s speech might 
have been, it was at this moment interrupted in the 
most unexpected way. A hand was laid upon her 
shoulder, she turned quickly to meet the wizened face 
of a little old lady in a grey dress. 

“ What are you exciting yourself about. Gunning ? ” 
said the little lady; “and who, may I ask, is this 
young person ? ” 

“ My dear Mrs. Chevening, she is a girl who has 
no business to be here,” said Mrs. Gunning. As she 
spoke she nodded emphatically to Rosamond to 
go away. “You will feel a draught if you stand 
there just between the open window and the hall 
door. Pray take my arm and let me convey you 
back again to your sitting-room.” 

“But I fancied,” said Mrs. Chevening, “that I 


Bearding the Lioness. 103 

heard this young girl say she wished to speak to me 
If such is the case ” 

“ Yes, I do want to speak to you,” said Rosamond, 
who saw at once that her opportunity had unex- 
pectedly come. “ I won’t keep you long, and I pro- 
mise not to say anything exciting. Mrs. Gunning 
tells me you are not strong.” 

“ Not strong ! I am perfectly strong,” said Mrs. 
Chevening. She drew herself up to her full tiny 
height, and gave Mrs. Gunning a look under which 
the taller woman lowered her eyelids. 

“ Leave us. Gunning,” she said, waving her hand, 
I will find out for myself what the young lady re- 
quires from me.” 

There was no help for it, Mrs. Gunning had to 
depart in discomfiture. 

Mrs. Chevening waited until her footsteps had 
died away in the passage, then she turned slowly to 
Rosamond. 

“ I am certainly not in the habit of seeing visitors,” 
she said, “ and you are a bold girl to call upon me as 
you have done. I am an old lady now, but I still 
hold the reins in my own house, and when people call, 
although I do not receive, I wish to be told. Gunning 
made a mistake in not bringing your name direct to 
me. I should probably not have seen you, but I 
might at least have sent you a polite message. I 
have never yet, that I am aware of, done a rude 
thing, and I hope I am not going to begin in my 
extreme old age. As I have unexpectedly come 
into the hall, I will give you five minutes ; follow me, 
please, Miss — but, pardon me, I did not catch your 
name.” 

“ My name is Rosamond Underhill,” answered 
Rosamond. 

“Come with me, Miss Underhill. I never like to 


104 Merry Girls of England. 

talk to anyone where there is a possibility of eaves- 
droppers being about. I have noticed before now 
that when Gunning leaves a room she does not quite 
close the door. We will go to an apartment where 
we are safe from being disturbed.” 

As she spoke she began to walk quickly down the 
hall, and looking back at Rosamond motioned to her 
to follow. 

They passed through a curtained door, and then 
through a room thickly carpeted, where their footsteps 
did not make the slightest sound. Then they went 
into another room, and then into another, and finally 
found themselves in a very small and cosy parlour, 
with old-fashioned tapestry covering the walls. 

“ This is the Tapestry Room,” said Mrs. Chevening. 
“ The story worked on the tapestry is full of interest. 
It illustrates the Spanish Armada, and was worked, 
I believe, towards the latter end of the days of 
Queen Elizabeth. You can look at it if ever you 
happen to come to visit me again. Now, pray seat 
yourself, and tell me exactly why you have chosen 
to take up some of my valuable time.” 

“ I have come,” said Rosamond, “to talk to you 
about your granddaughter.” 

Mrs. Chevening had seated herself on the extreme 
edge of a high-backed Queen Anne chair. She drew 
herself up now stiffly, and fixed her cold, grey eyes on 
Rosamond’s blooming face. 

“ And pray. Miss Underhill,” she said, after a pause, 
in a voice of ice, “ may I ask in what way you have 
become acquainted with my granddaughter } ” 

“ I am prepared to tell you everything,” said 
Rosamond. “ I live with my three sisters at a little 
place not far from here called The Gables.” 

“ I know The Gables — a tumble-down farmhouse. 
The man who lived there last went bankrupt. The 


Bearding the Lioness. 


105 


place did not pay. There was too little land. I 
used to buy some of his eggs from him, but they 
were never really fresh, and the butter was far from 
perfect” 

“ Well, my sisters and I own The Gables now,” 
continued Rosamond, “ and we hope very earnestly 
that we may make the farm pay. On the first day of 
our arrival my second sister, Barbara, met your grand- 
daughter sitting on a stile close to the high road. 
They began to talk, and Barbara — my sister — dis- 
covered that your granddaughter was lonely, and that 
she wanted companions of her own age. Since then 
Hero has often come to see us.” 

Mrs. Chevening now rose slowly from her chair. 

“Do you mean to tell me. Miss Underhill,” she 
said, “ that my granddaughter. Hero Chevening, has 
been often a guest in your house ? Pause — think for 
a moment. Are you quite certain you are speaking 
the absolute truth ? ” 

“ I am quite certain, Mrs. Chevening. Hero has 
often visited us, and it has done her good. When 
she has been with us for an hour, or even less, she 
begins to look as a young girl should look, happy 
and bright. Each time she comes she goes away 
looking more like other girls, with more life, more 
youth in her.” Here Rosamond paused. 

“You are a courageous girl, Miss Underhill, 
pray go on,” said Mrs. Chevening, “I am all atten- 
tion.” 

“ I mean to tell you everything,” continued 
Rosamond. “I would not have sought you out as 
I have done if I had not meant to tell you the 
absolute truth.” 

“ You do right to speak the truth. Now, pray 
proceed with your story.” 

“To-day Hero came to us as usual,” continued 


io 6 Merry Girls of England, 

Rosamond. “We had tea together, and afterwards 
we began to play tennis.” 

“ Tennis } What is that I never heard of it.” 

“ It is a game that girls play a good deal in these 
days.” 

“ Well, proceed. From personal observation I am 
drawn to the conclusion that girls are even sillier now 
than they were when I was young. If you had told 
me that you all proceeded after tea to take out your 
needlework and to stitch away at shirts for your 
brothers I should have considered that you were 
usefully employed.” 

“ But we have not got any brothers,” said Rosa- 
mond, with a faint smile. 

“ Well — pardon the interruption — you played 
tennis instead ? Now proceed with your story.” 

“We played tennis and we were all very happy. 
Suddenly Mrs. Gunning arrived. She was very 
angry. She said that Hero should never come again. 
Now it would be quite possible for Hero to come 
without leave, but we don’t want her to do that, for 
stolen visits would not really do her any good, so 
I thought I would come to you to ask if your 
granddaughter may visit us. We will faithfully 
promise to do her no harm.” 

“ I am really enormously obliged to you,” said 
Mrs. Chevening. 

She rose as she spoke and walked to the door. 
When she got there she lifted aside the tapestry 
curtain which covered it and turned the key in 
the lock. 

“The door is unlocked now,” she said. “You 
can open it and go out.” 

“ But,” said Rosamond, turning very pale, “ you 
have not answered me. May Hero really come 
to visit us } ” 



“‘THE DOOR IS UNLOCKED NOW ’ ” (/. io6). 









f . 




% 1 'l 


. -7J/ 

#; ^ 


}t 


fr*“ 






fZi 








) 


■/' , 




■■<i 






» r 


I 






f . 




isiK-i/ 


:- A jl", 


.- -r 


^ 4 


_!*'• ‘:i»' • .*•: •; '~ »W 




■ - ■^.■'''•.•w,.^.^ii'i-' ■/■■■ «*■■' ' -■-; -4^ 

_J^.'-. * > _v -: . /Ul 


V. 




wa^. 


i 


r A 


* . 




* * > V. :L^ 

-''>;4'»an'.:H *^1 

■' -• *tv“ 




./w. 






:-/<l 








» 






%• *• ' 

^, . p ■ 






%.«w* 


.' ‘ % * ‘ ' JT j 


‘F«tl 


<► V 


V V ► 


o 


< 


# A 

V . ♦ • ^ «V £. 7/J 

^ - -i-^A j* 


V fr ' . ;, 

'3?** - i-.v 


JTf’ 


« • r 

^*;-' ■ .V* ” 


r * 


Til 


X • • 


4 t. 


W- vf 






^ ♦ 





■-! 




l%r •* # 


'i*:^ 




m 




•A • V»r •. 


. *^^,.... - vv.’ ^ i'" 


t; .. .11 








iCvlf 









Bearding the Lioness. 


107 


“She may not. I do not wish her to associate 
with you. I mean no disrespect to you, Miss Under- 
hill, but I have my own excellent reasons. Under- 
stand, once for all, that they are final. You are a 
brave girl, and I respect you. You came straight to 
me, which was perfectly right. You have courage, 
and I like courage ; but if you attempt to see Hero 
again I must send her away from Chevening Hall.” 

“ I am very sorry,” said Rosamond. “ You 
must allow me to say, young girl as I am, that I 
think you are doing wrong.” 

“When I feel that I need your opinion on my 
conduct I will send for you. Miss Underhill,” said 
Mrs. Chevening in the most courteously polite 
and icily cold voice. Then she dropped a stately 
courtesy, and poor Rosamond found herself at the 
other side of the door. 

How she walked down the long passage, and 
got into the hall, and out of the house, she never 
could quite tell. When she did find herself in the 
open air she ran all the way home, and finally, when 
she reached the cosy little drawing-room at The 
Gables, she burst into tears. 

“ Why, Rose, what can be the matter .? ” said 
Clementcy. 

“Oh! I don’t quite know myself,” said Rosamond, 
“ only I did a desperate thing and I utterly failed. 
Oh, Barbara, and Ursula, and Clementcy, don’t 
ask me to tell you anything about my visit to the 
Hall. I can only say that I have failed and never 
felt smaller in my life.” 


CHAPTER X. 


TENANT MANSIONS. 

“ You can come in Barbara,” said Hero ; " oh, yes, 
the window is wide open, and no one will interfere 
with us to-night, but I daresay you will never be 
allowed to climb up the ladder of ropes again. Yes, 
you have managed everything splendidly, but there’s 
no use in it all, not a bit.” 

Barbara Underhill, her face flushed, her hands 
somewhat torn, had just popped her head in at the 
window of the attic above Hero’s room. The hour 
was between ten and eleven at night ; the rest of the 
house was perfectly still. 

“ For the first time in my life,” continued Hero, 
“ I am really glad that dear Frisk is dead. He might 
have heard you, and he might have barked as you 
made that wonderful scramble up the wistaria ; I do 
hope you have not pulled the dear creeper to pieces ; 
now then draw in the ladder ; oh, Bab, it cheers me in 
spite of myself to see you, but I have bad news for 
you — very bad.” 

“ Let me get my breath before you tell me,” said 
Barbara as she entered the room. 

" Come and sit in this queer old arm-chair ; I am 
almost certain it is the one the ghost occupies when 
she is not wandering about the house. Oh, what a 
scratch you have got right across your cheek.” 

As if that mattered,” said Barbara ; “ I was 
determined not to fail you. Poor Rosamond has been 


Tenant Mansions. 


log 


miserable about you all day, Hero. She has, of 
course, not the faintest idea that I have run away 
to-night.” 

“ Well, I suppose not. See, the door is locked. I 
have locked my bedroom door too. Gunning is in 
bed, and Grannie occupies the other wing of the 
house. Now sit close to me, and let us whisper 
together.” 

Hero’s face was paler than usual ; there were 
traces of tears on her cheeks ; her large blue eyes 
looked angry and full of rebellion. 

She went up to Barbara’s side, knelt close to her, 
put her arms round her neck, laid her head on her 
shoulder, and burst into tears. 

“ I can’t help it,” she said. I don’t often cry, I 
assure you, but you cannot possibly imagine what a 
miserable, wretched day I have just passed.” 

Well, tell me everything,” said Barbara. 

“And the worst of it is,” continued Hero, “ that it 
is partly poor dear Rosamond’s doing. You know, 
don’t you, that she absolutely had the pluck to come 
here last night, and to beard Grannie in her den. 
Grannie, who has not seen a stranger for I should say 
quite ten years. Well, she had an interview with 
Grannie, and I have not the faintest idea what 
Rosamond said to her, but the consequence was as 
follows. Grannie sent for me to-day, after breakfast. 
She told me I was not on any consideration to speak 
to you again. She does not wish me even to know 
you.” 

“ But I cannot imagine why,” said Barbara ; “ is it 
because we are not good enough ? ” 

“ I don’t think it can be that. For if you are not 
good enough for me, no one else is in all the world. 
But the fact is this, Bab, there is some mystery about 
me, something which I don’t understand myself and 


no Merry Girls of England. 

therefore cannot explain. I have lived at the Hall ever 
since I was almost a baby, and during all that time 
I have never had a single companion, except one girl 
who once spent two nights with me. During all those 
long years I have never associated with anyone but 
Mrs. Gunning, Grannie, and the old servant Frances. 
Frances is nearly as old as Grannie, and a great 
deal more cranky. You can imagine, can you not, what 
a lively life I have. Even the use of the library has 
been denied me, for once a couple of years ago I was 
found there mounted on the top of the ladder devour- 
ing a book called ‘ Evelina ^ ; it was such a jolly book — 
all about the gay world and the men who fell in love 
with Evelina. It was written by a certain Miss 
Burney, and I found it fascinating. Grannie by an 
evil chance happened to come into the library while I 
was enjoying myself. She asked me what book I was 
devouring and I told her. Since then the library 
has been locked, and only Grannie and Mrs. Gunning 
can go into it. Oh, Barbara, cannot you imagine my 
wretched life, shut up here with no one to love and 
little or nothing to do. Gunning does nothing but 
scold me, and she gives me the stupidest, mustiest, 
fustiest old books to learn my lessons from. Then a 
few months ago you girls came and everything seemed 
changed. It was as if the spring had come ; I was so 
happy. But now I have promised Grannie — she 
would never rest until I had promised her — I 
have promised her faithfully not to speak to any 
of you again. She gave me an alternative ; she 
said if I did not make her that promise she 
would send me away from the Hall. She did not 
say where, but I saw by her look, and that awful cold 
light in her gray eyes, that she would send me to some 
desolate place — a sort of prison, in fact, where I might 
lose my senses.” 


Tenant Mansions. 


Ill 


“Well, it is all most extraordinary,” said Barbara. 
“What can be the meaning of keeping you locked 
up like this ? You say, too, the place will belong to 
you some day. Do you think. Hero — do you think 
it possible that your grandmother is right in her 
mind ? ” 

“ I don’t know, I am sure,” answered Hero, with 
a weary sigh. “Anyhow, I belong to her, and I am 
forced to do what she wishes.” 

“ Then you have promised to give us up, you will 
not let down the ladder of ropes for me again ? ” 

“ I have given Grannie the promise she required. 
I did not do it because I wished to, but because she 
looked so terrible. I can always defy Gunning, but I 
cannot face that awful look which comes now and then 
in Grannie’s eyes. You know how small she is, but 
oh, she is so stately, so cold, so terrible — she stood over 
me, she did not speak, but just waited for me to say 
‘Yes’ or ‘ No.’ If I said ‘No,’ I was to go away, this 
very day. I do not know where, only Gunning and 
Frances were to take me, and Grannie said she would 
never see me again, and that when she was dead I 
would be sorry that I had refused the last request she 
could make of me. She said, too, that she had known 
great trouble in her life, and that she would like me 
to promise to obey her in this particular. Her eyes 
did look so queer — they seemed to light up from 
within, and her lips grew straighter and more deter- 
mined and more cruel than ever. 

“ ‘ Before I had this great trouble. Hero,’ she said, 
‘ I was like other people, and I used to enjoy life like 
other people, but I have discovered now that all is 
vanity, and the less you know of the ways of this 
wicked world the better.’ Then she said again, ‘ Is 
it “Yes,” or “No”? Now or never, Hero. Is it to 
be “ Yes,” or “ No”?’ 


1 12 Merry Girls of England. 

“So, Barbara, I said it was to be ‘Yes,' and then 
she came up to me and just touched my lips with hers, 
and her lips were cold and I shivered. I went away 
to my bedroom and locked myself in, and cried for a 
couple of hours. Well, now you know everything. 
What is to be done, Barbara I made a mental 
reservation when I gave Grannie that promise that I 
would see you just once to-night, just to bid you 
good-bye, for I must never see you again.” 

“ It will kill you,” said Barbara gloomily. 

“ I do not think so, for you see I have excellent 
health, and am as strong as possible.” 

“ Can you not remember any life before you came 
here ? ” continued Barbara. 

“ Partly, in a dreamy sort of way. I know I had 
a father and mother like other children, and we lived 
in a big city, perhaps London. The house was large, 
too, for I remember my nursery was at the top, and I 
had two servants to wait on me, a nurse and a nursery- 
maid, and I had two nurseries, a day and a night 
nursery, and I had heaps of toys. I used to go out 
in a little carriage, and there was a good deal of fuss 
made over me. Then there came a dreadful morning 
when mother rushed up all in a hurry and kissed me, 
and kissed me as if she would never leave off ; and 
then my outdoor clothes were put on, and I was put 
into a cab, and the cab drove to a big station, and a 
woman met me there — she was Mrs. Gunning — we 
both got into a train and we came here. From that 
day to now I have never seen mother and I have 
never seen father again. At first I used to ask 
Grannie questions about them, but she would never 
answer me. I was four years old then, now I am 
nearly sixteen. That is nearly twelve years ago. 
During all those weary years I have lived in this 
house, and have had no companions except Grannie 


Tenant Mans/oa^s. 


iiS 

and Gunning, and the old servant, Frances. While 
Frisk was alive things were not quite so bad, but 
then Frisk died. Barbara, what is the matter? what 
a colour you have ; you have some thought in your 
head, I know!” 

“ I have a thought,” said Barbara, “a great thought. 

Oh, Hero, I wonder if you would dare I ” 

Would dare what, Bab — what do you mean .? ” 

“I love you very much indeed. Hero,” said Barbara. 

“ Oh, Bab darling, and I love you.” 

I think I love you better than anyone else in 
the world,” continued Barbara, ^‘even in some ways 
better than Rosamond. You seem to fit quite tightly 
to me.” 

** How sweet you are, Bab I But why do you tell 
me these things now, now that we must part for ever? 
— it makes the parting all the more bitter.” 

“ I don’t know that we need part,” said Barbara. 
" Oh, I must think, I must think very hard. I wonder, 
if my thought came to anything, if you would really 
help me I ” 

“ Of course I would if I could ; but you know I 
must not break my promise ; you must never come 
up the ladder of ropes again. Did not I make it 
nicely ? Was not all our plan charming ? I had it 
all arranged, and I had quite a happy time last night 
thinking it over. You were to come up here every 
evening for an hour, and just in case Gunning should 
suspect anything, I was going to make the ghost walk 
some evening.” 

“ What do you mean ? ” 

“ You know, of course, this attic is haunted. She 
may be listening to us now ; she is supposed to walk 
at the full moon. Well, she was to walk some night, 
and you were to be the ghost, and Gunning was just 
to see you disappearing down a passage.” 

II 


ii 4 Merry CtIrLs of ^nglaNi). 

Barbara laughed. 

“ Don’t you suppose she would run after me and 
find out ? ” she asked. 

“No fear of that,” answered Hero, “ poor old 
Gunning is an awful coward when it comes to any- 
thing supernatural ; but, oh dear, there’s no use in 
thinking of anything of that sort now, for I must be 
true to my word, and after to-night, Barbara, dear 
Barbara, we must not meet again.” 

“You can see me again. Hero, if you give back 
your promise to your grandmother.” 

“ What in the world do you mean ? ” 

“You said ‘Yes’ to her to-day, but you can 
change your mind and say ‘No.’ You can tell her 
quite frankly the whole reason.” 

“ There would be no use in it, Barbara. Grannie 
is stronger than I am ; she would send me quite away. 
I would rather be in the misery I know, than go into 
fresh misery that I know nothing about. 1 should 
not have the courage to take back my word, if it is 
that you mean.” 

“ I don’t exactly know myself what I mean to- 
night — I must think it all over. But just be assured 
of one thing, I am determined to help you. You 
have promised that you will not see me again, but 
you have not promised that you will not write to 
me and that I must not write to you. Now I will go. 
Only, Hero, to-morrow night, at this same hour, let 
down a rope, will you, and I will fasten a letter to it 
— that letter will tell you what I have really got in 
my mind.” 

Barbara went home, but very little sleep visited 
her that night. At daybreak she rose, and going 
to her desk, took out a sheet of paper and a pencil, 
and began to make certain calculations. Figures 
were not Barbara’s strong point, but on this par- 


Tei^ant Mansions. 


ns 


ticular morning they seemed to absorb her most 
earnest attention. As she scribbled, and compared, 
and added up, her cheeks grew bright and her 
eyes full of sparkles. Clementcy suddenly popped 
in her head. 

“ Bab, do fly downstairs, a fresh batch of chicks 
is out.” 

“ Don’t bother me, Clem — run away,” said Barbara. 

“But won’t you come down just to take one 
peep, they are such little downy darlings.” 

“ I cannot. Do you not see that I am busy ? ” 

Clementcy slammed the door in some impatience, 
and Barbara went back to her accounts. 

Half an hour passed. Somebody threw up gravel 
at her window. She started impatiently. Ursula, 
the soft summer breeze blowing her curls about, 
was standing below. 

“Bab, Bab, pray come down. Farmer Jenkins 
has just brought the new cow, you cannot think 
how pretty she is. We want you to help us to 
give her a name.” 

“ Oh ! call her anything,” answered Barbara. 

“ But won’t you really come and look at her. 
I never saw such a darling, she has such lovely 
eyes. I suggested to Rosamond that we should 
call her ‘ Cherry.’ Don’t you think ‘ Cherry ’ would 
be a good name for her, Bab ? ” 

“ An excellent name,” answered Barbara, “ or — 
or ‘ Cowslip ’ ? ” she added. 

“ Dear me, Bab, we have got ‘ Cowslip’ already.” 

“Well, please don’t disturb me now, Ursula, I 
am very busy. I will look at the new cow and the 
downy chicks at breakfast time, I cannot come down 
at present.” 

Ursula went slowly away, her ardour somewhat 
damped. 

H 2 


Merry Girls of England. 


116 


“ I do wish Bab would care for the things we 
care for,” she said in a plaintive voice to Rosamond, 
and Rosamond, whose smooth face looked as if it 
could never entertain even the slighest cloud of 
discontent, felt a shadow come over it for a mo- 
ment. 

“Never mind,” she said to Ursula, “we cannot 
all be made alike.” Then she added, after a moment’s 
pause, as she hurried off to the dairy with her two 
sisters — “I did think Bab would have got to like 
the farm by this time. I did not know when we 
all lived in town how very much her heart was set 
on books.” 

“It is not only books now,” said Ursula, “she 
is fretting about Hero. Did you not notice how 
very, very gloomy she was all yesterday evening } ” 

But after breakfast that morning Barbara was 
the reverse of gloomy. She even condescended to 
admire the downy yellow chicks, and to stroke down 
the satin coat of pretty Mrs. Cherry. 

“ And I am to learn to milk her,” said Ursula. 
“ I expect I shall be rather frightened the first time ; 
but Farmer Jenkins says she is as gentle as a 
lamb.” 

“ You donT mean to say,” answered Barbara, frown- 
ing slightly, “ that you are going to milk cows, Ursula ? 
Surely that part of a farm life is not necessary for 
a lady } ” 

“ But I am not a lady, I am a farm girl,” answered 
Ursula stoutly. “ I shall like to do it. I think,” 
she added, “ I would rather be a farm girl than a 
lady.” 

“ Chacun d sou goiU!^ said Barbara, in a nonchalant 
voice. She jumped up from her seat at the breakfast 
table. 

“ Rosamond,” she said, “ can I speak to you } ” 


Tenant Mansions. 


117 

“ Of course, Bab, but is it anything special ? for 
I shall be very busy all day. Farmer Jenkins has 
most kindly promised to take our butter with his 
to Charlton to-morrow to sell, and I have got six 
dozen fresh eggs all buttered and just as fresh as 
if they were new-laid. I have to pack the eggs care- 
fully, and to churn the butter. He will call for our 
farm produce between three and four in the morning.” 

“ I am sure it is a most fascinating occupation,” 
said Barbara, “ but I won’t keep you long. If 
you have finished breakfast shall we go into the 
drawing-room ? ” 

Rosamond rose, shook some crumbs from her neat 
little brown holland apron, and followed Barbara into 
the next room. 

“ Well,” she said, “ what is it ?” 

Barbara shut the door behind her. 

“ It is only fair to tell you, Rosamond, that I 

have made up my mind ” began Barbara. She 

turned somewhat pale as she spoke, and her eyes 
assumed a wistful expression. 

“ What about, Bab ? ” said Rosamond. “ Oh, 
Barbara, dear, the experiment is succeeding so de- 
lightfully, why will you throw cold water on it ? ” 

“ I don’t mean to for you,” said Barbara, but 
I must for myself. It is all right for you, but it 
does not suit me. I must map out my own life. 
I cannot consent to spending it here. I don’t care 
for chickens, nor for cows, nor for any other country 
pursuit. I am made differently, and I cannot help 
myself. Rosamond, would it hurt you dreadfully, 
would it make a great difference, if I were to take 
my share of the thousand pounds ? ” 

Rosamond sank down into the nearest chair. She 
could not help gasping a little. 

“ It will divide us,” she said slowly. 


k8 Merry Girls of England. 

No, no, darling, not in our hearts,” said Barbara, 
going up to her sister, kneeling by her side, and 
looking affectionately into her face. 

“ It will, Barbara, we cannot help it.” 

“Well, never mind that part now. Are you 
willing that I should take my share ? ” 

“ How can I prevent you But Mr. Johnson will 
not like it.” 

“ I don’t mind a bit about that ; Mr. Johnson is 
nothing whatever to me. I have a right to my own 
money, have I not ? ” 

“ Oh, yes, you have a right. Aunt Jane made a 
most extraordinary will. Children as we really are, 
she has left us full control over our little property. 
You can have your two hundred and fifty pounds 
any day you like.” 

“Well, Rosamond, I should like to have part of 
it soon. You and the two other girls can manage 
the farm without me.” 

“We can manage, of course, but everything will 
be different,” said Rosamond. “ Somehow, Barbara, 
and you know it, we have always leant upon 
you.” 

“ I cannot help myself,” said Barbara ; she gave a 
little impatient shake as she spoke and sprang to 
her feet. “ I cannot stay here,” she continued, “ the 
life kills me, it crushes all that is best out of me. I 
don’t care for the things you care for ; why should 
one be sacrificed to three — why should not I make 
my own life, my own plans, and my own future ? Of 
course I have not quite decided yet .what I shall do, 
but I wanted to tell you, Rosamond, that I am going 
to-day to see Mr. Johnson ; I shall also have a chat 
with Lucy Tregunter. Good-bye, Rosamond, now I 
must hurry if I mean to catch the ten o’clock train. 
I shall be back some time this evening.” 


Tenant Mansions. 119 

“Very well, Bab, only please don’t do anything 
rash. Think of the long years we have lived together 
such close friends, and I have leant on you although 
you are younger than me.” 

Barbara flung both her hands to her sides. 

“ I feel hard just now,” she said. “ I don’t seem 
quite to know myself. I must go to Charlton, I will 
make a decision there. Of course, I may not be able 
to do anything, a thousand obstacles may creep up. 
I don’t mean to be cruel to you. Rose, dear Rose, 
but — but something drives me to do what I am now 
doing.” 

She hurried out of the room, and Rosamond, 
dashing the tears from her eyes, returned to her 
interrupted farm duties. 

Barbara did not take long walking to the little 
station, the train arrived in due course, and she found 
herself at Charlton some time before twelve o’clock. 
She had planned out a very distinct programme. 
First of all she would visit Lucy Tregunter. Lucy 
had left the High School, and Barbara thought it 
likely that she would be at home. After seeing 
Lucy, who would probably invite her to stay to 
lunch, she would go and have her interview with 
Mr. Johnson. Much of the scheme she had planned 
out for herself depended on Lucy, for Barbara knew 
nothing whatever of the world into which she was 
going to plunge her imprudent little feet. Lucy, on 
the contrary, knew it well. Lucy had visited 
London — had seen life, as she expressed it. She 
could give Barbara just the valuable information 
which she needed at this time. 

She arrived at the Tregunters’ house, and was 
fortunate in finding her friend at home. 

Lucy was in her private sanctum seated at her 
desk, as^ usual, scnbbling furiously;. She looked up 


120 Merry Girls of England. 

in some astonishment and also some annoyance when 
the servant announced Barbara’s name. 

“Barbara Underhill!” she exclaimed. “Why, 
my dear, I thought you were dead, buried, and done 
for. What has brought you to life again ? ” 

“ I am very much alive,” answered Barbara ; “ I 
was never dead and buried that I am aware of. Can 
you give me half an hour of your valuable time, 
Lucy ? ” 

“ Do you want my advice } ” asked Lucy. 

“ Yes, dreadfully.” 

“ Well, you remember you would not take it last 
time I offered it, and as it happens I am going out 
to lunch with some special friends of mine ; I must be 
with them sharp at one o’clock. I see it is just twelve 
now, and I need not go to dress for half an hour ; 
yes, you can have the time you require.” 

“ Thank you,” answered Barbara. 

She seated herself as she spoke on a chair which 
commanded a view of the garden and the pretty 
country beyond the town. Everything looked sweet 
and peaceful and intellectual in Lucy’s sanctum ; how 
different from the farm atmosphere which Barbara 
hated so much, and which she was so glad to turn 
her back on for a few hours! 

“ How are your sisters, and how does the farm 
work ? ” asked Lucy, in a nonchalant voice, and 
yawning slightly as she spoke. 

“ My sisters are very well,” answered Barbara. 
“They are immersed in poultry cares and in dairy 
cares. They think fresh eggs, and fresh butter, and 
cream and strawberries, and green peas, and all those 
sort of things, form the essence of life. Oh, Lucy, it 
is refreshing to come back to you. What new book 
is that you have got on the table } ” 

“ It is by a man of the name of Frederic, and 


Tenant Mansions. 12 i 

called ‘ Illumination/ ” said Lucy briefly ; “ it is im- 
mensely clever, but one has to be specially trained 
to appreciate it.” 

“You seem to imply, Lucy, that I should not 
care for it.” 

“Not yet, of course; you are much too young. 
Now let me tell you that you look in remarkably 
good health, fifty times better than when you were 
cooped up at that High School all day. Do you 
know, Barbara, this talk about farm life sounds most 
refreshing to me ? ” 

“Does it, Lucy.? Well, you see, you only hear 
of it at a distance. I must tell you frankly once for 
all that I loathe the thing, and what is more, I have 
made up my mind not to go on with it.” 

“Then what do you mean to do?” said Lucy, 
opening her eyes wide, and looking really interested 
at last. 

“ I mean to take my share of our fortune, and go 
to live in London.” 

“ Well, Barbara, you have spirit ; I quite admire 
you.” 

“ I am glad of that, Lucy ; but I am afraid, 
whether you admire me or not, my mind is fully 
made up. I am going to London ; I intend, when I 
get there, to go on with my education. Some day, 
some happy day, I shall write of those things of 
which my heart and head are full.” 

“ Oh dear, dear, she means to write, does she .? ” 
said Lucy. “A penny for her thoughts, the little 
darling.” 

“Why will you sneer?” said Barbara angrily. 
“ When things are most serious it tries me more than 
I can say when you put on that unpleasant manner.” 

“Why do you come to see me, my love, if you 
.dislike my manner ? ” 


122 ^dERRY Girls of England. 

“Because you are the only worldly friend I 
have.” 

“ Thank you greatly for the compliment ; so I am 
your worldly friend ? ” 

“Well, of course, Lucy, I don’t mean to offend 
you by saying it, but you do know a great deal of the 
world, as it happens, and I know nothing. What I 
came to see you about to-day was to ask you ” 

“ I do hope you will speak quickly, Barbara, for 
time is flying, and I don’t wish to offend those 
acquaintances who do not speak of me as their 
worldly friend.” 

“You know quite well what I mean, Lucy, do try 
not to be so silly.” 

“ Upon my word, Barbara ! ” Lucy jumped to her 
feet. 

“ Please, Lucy, forgive me ; you don’t know how 
anxious and desperate I feel, and I want so badly to 
know what I ought to do. Some time ago, don’t you 
remember, you told me of some flats in London, where 
girls, girls who are as young as I am, and alone, can 
live quite respectably.” 

“I don’t recollect,” said Lucy. 

“ Oh, don’t you, but I remember quite well. You 
had the address of one of these mansions, as they are 
called, in a notebook. Do find it and give it to 
me.” 

Lucy yawned. 

“ In the rushing life I lead,” she said, “ it is simply 
impossible to remember all that one says. However, 
Barbara, to be frank with you I admire your pluck, 
and think, if you must go to London, you would do 
well to live in a flat ; of course the other girls, or 
young women or whatever they are called, would help 
you and give you information. Let me see, where 
did I put the ad,dr.e_ss you speak of,? ” 


Tenant Mansions. 


123 

"In one of your numerous address books, you 
know ; you keep them on that shelf.” 

"You at least have a good memory, Barbara. Yes, 
I recollect now.” 

Lucy crossed the room, took down a little brass- 
bound book from its place on her book-shelf, and 
opened it. 

"Here is the address of some flats,” she said, 
" Tenant Mansions, Baker Street. You had better 
write to the secretary and find out particulars.” 

" I will write this very day,” said Barbara. " Did 
you by any chance enter the price of the flats 
in your book ? ” 

“ I have entered no particulars. I know the flats 
are meant for girls to live in, and I fancy there is a 
sort of general restaurant downstairs. If you write to 
the secretary she will give you full particulars. Is 
there anything else, Barbara ? ” 

^ "If you are really in such a hurry to go there is 
nothing else. I had of course hoped that you would 
have given me advice, and told me something of what 
London is like.” 

" Of what London is like echoed Lucy. " You 
don’t suppose for a moment, that you will see the real 
London from your flat; I mean you won’t see the 
delightful, fascinating London of Society.” 

" I don’t want the London of Society,” said 
Barbara, " I want the London of Intellect. I shall 
see that, shall I not, even though I am poor?” 

“ Perhaps you will — you will probably get a ticket 
for the British Museum, and will be able to go to the 
Reading Room every day, and get mummified and 
ossified as quickly as possible. I don’t suppose, after 
all, that you have the genius you imagine yourself to 
possess, but whether you have it or not, you must 
prepare for a very rough time.” 


124 Merry Girls of England. 

“ I don’t mind that.” 

“Well, Barbara, I really cannot stay another 
moment. Write to the secretary at Tenant Mansions, 
that is the first thing. If I can help you in any way 
later on let me know. Now I must really fly to get 
dressed.” 

Lucy gave her friend a little peck on her check, and 
hastily left the room. 

Barbara ran downstairs. She did not wait for the 
grand footman to let her out, but opened the hall 
door herself. 

“ Why did I ever care for Lucy Tregunter } ” she 
could not help saying to herself. “ How different, how 
very different she is from Hero. Now that I have 
secured Hero’s friendship, I know how false and 
unsubstantial the feeling I entertained for Lucy 
really was. Well, she has given me the address 
of those flats, and I have something to work upon. I 
must now hurry as fast as possible to see Mr. 
Johnson.” 

Mr. Johnson, a round-headed, cheery-looking man, 
was just going out to lunch when Barbara popped 
her little face round the door. 

“ My dear Miss Barbara Underhill,” he said, hold- 
ing out his hand to her, “ I am as pleased as possible 
to see you. Now you must just come straight home 
to lunch with me ; my wife will be only too glad to 
welcome you. And what about your sisters, how are 
they getting on, and how does the farm prosper ? Do 
you know, I think your sister Rosamond about the 
pluckiest girl of my acquaintance.” 

“ Things go very well at the faift,” said Barbara, 
“ and Rosamond believes she is succeeding ; she has 
got two cows, and is sending butter to the market to- 
morrow, and a great many new laid eggs.” 

“ Is she really? Well, now, you just tell her this. 


Tenant Mansions. 


125 


Tell her that my wife and I will take her butter and two 
or three dozen eggs every week. I’ll speak to Mrs. 
Johnson about it ; I know she will be only too delighted 
to encourage native talent of that sort. I hope you 
help Rosamond, Miss Barbara, you certainly look 
strong and stout enough, you ought to be a good hand 
at milking the cows. Have you learned to master 
that little difficulty yet, my dear } ” 

“No, and I don’t mean to,” said Barbara. “Mr. 
Johnson, I have come here to-day to talk to you 
about myself.” 

“ About yourself, child ! I hope there is nothing 
wrong.” 

“ There is nothing wrong. I simply want to tell 
you that I am not going to be a girl-farmer.” 

“You are not going to be a girl-farmer!” said Mr. 
Johnson. “But, my dear Miss Barbara, you are one. 
You have all taken the farm, and I advanced you 
money out of your capital to stock it with. I don’t 
know what you mean by saying you are not going to 
be what you are.-” 

“ Please let me speak,” said poor Barbara. 

“ It is one o’clock, and time for my lunch,” said 
the lawyer. “ Y ou know my house — not a stone’s 
throw from here. Now just come along with me as 
fast as you can ; I’ll give you half an hour after lunch, 
but not a moment before. Now then, are you 
ready } ” 

Barbara saw there was no help for it. Mr. Johnson 
wanted his midday meal, and could not possibly 
believe that she had any business of importance to 
confide in him. 

“It is dreadful,” she said to herself. “Lucy 
talked to me as if she were laughing all the time. I 
could scarcely get that address from her, and now Mr. 
Johnson seems to think I am nothing but a stupid 


126 


MBkRV Girls of England. 


little schoolgirl, hungry for my lunch. Well, I’ll 
show them all what there is in me, before I have 
done.” 

Mr. Johnson’s house was really a very short distance 
from his office, and in a moment or two Barbara had 
been introduced to Mrs. Johnson, a fat, good-natured, 
roly-poly little sort of woman, who assured her almost 
in the same breath that she was delighted to make 
her acquaintance, and that she would never again 
patronise any butter but that made at the Gables, 
or any eggs but Rosamond’s. 

“ I am glad your sister has the eggs buttered while 
they are hot,” she said ; “ it is a first-rate idea. Do 
you know that, simple as it is, I cannot get the people 
round here to adopt it. In consequence, eggs a week 
old are perfectly blue when opened, whereas if they 
are buttered when hot they ought to be still quite full 
of milk.” 

“Well, my dear,” said the lawyer, rubbing his 
hands, “whether eggs be fresh or not, I really want 
my lunch — I hope lunch is on the table, my dear 
Susan.” 

“Yes, James, it has been on the table for two 
minutes,” said Mrs. Johnson. “Come this way. Miss 
Barbara.” 

She hurried them into the dining-room, and the 
lawyer, his wife, and their guest sat down to a very 
comfortable meal. 

After the pudding was withdrawn, Mr. Johnson 
pushed back his chair, fixed his spectacles on his 
nose, and stared very hard at Barbara. 

“You look first-rate,” he said; “you are growing 
quite a fine girl.” 


CHAPTER XI. 

DOING A WILFUL DEED. 

“ Can I speak to you alone ? ” asked Barbara. 

“Yes, of course you can ; that is, if you find my 
wife in the way.” 

“ Oh, James, I don’t mind leaving the room,” said 
good-natured, little Mrs. Johnson. “I know, my 
dear,” she added, nodding and smiling at Barbara, 
“ that it is far easier to make a confidence to one 
than to two. Fll just run off to attend to my pre- 
serving — I am making strawberry jam this morning. 
By the way, I suppose your sister Rosamond is great 
at that sort of thing ? ” 

“ I suppose she is,” answered Barbara ; “ I smell 
jam-making and cooking of all sorts most of the day 
at The Gables.” 

“ What a capital girl she must be,” said Mrs. 
Johnson, as she bustled off. “Now I should not be 
a bit surprised if I were to order jams, as well as eggs 
and fresh butter, from that dear little farm. You 
give Miss Rosamond my love when you see her 
to-night, Barbara, and tell her what I say. Tell her, 
too, that I shall probably pop down and pay her a 
visit some day next week, and will see for myself 
what you are all doing. Upon my word, I think 
girl-farmers ought to be encouraged ; it is a nice 
healthy life, and there is no fear of such girls turning 
into the odious New Woman.” 

“ Miss Barbara does not look as if she appreciated 
your remarks, Susan,” said the lawyer with a laugh. 


128 Merry Girls of England. 

“ Oh, she will know better when she gets on in 
years,” said the little woman. She hurried off as she 
spoke, and Mr. Johnson rose slowly and shut the 
door behind her. 

“ Now, Barbara,” he said, “ I am a busy man, 
what is it you want to say ? ” 

“ I won’t keep you,” answered Barbara, standing 
up as she spoke, and colouring. “ I want you to let 
me have fifty pounds out of my two hundred and 
fifty.” 

“Fifty pounds!” said Mr. Johnson, his voice 
changing. “Come, this is serious. What in the 
world can a child like you want with fifty pounds } ” 

“ But the money is mine ; I mean you cannot 
refuse it me ; you are bound to give it to me if I ” 

“If you put a pistol to my head and say, ‘your 
money or your life } ’ ” said the lawyer, laughing. 

“ Oh, please do take it seriously,” said poor 
Barbara. “ Cannot you see that I am dreadfully in 
earnest ? I do not want all my money, but I want 
fifty pounds. How soon can I have it ^ ” 

“ Within a week,” said the lawyer, slowly ; “ that 
is, if you have really made up your mind ; but you 
cannot expect me to give it to you without knowing 
something more about what you mean to do with it 
than I do at present.” 

“ I will tell you. I don’t like farming — I have 
never liked it. I never wished to live at The Gables. 
I have tried the experiment, and, as far as I am con- 
cerned, it does not succeed. Now I am very fond 
of books — there are no books at the farm.” 

“ But there can be. Bless me, there can be heaps 
of books at the farm. Why, you might subscribe to 
Mudie’s, and have a box of books down every week. 
The subscription would only cost a few guineas in 
the year; and to throw away your capital when you 


Doing a Wilful Deed. 


129 


have so little ! My dear child, between you and 
me, that will of Miss Motley’s was preposterous ; you 
cannot expect me to act upon it if I can possibly 
help myself.” 

“But you cannot help yourself,” said Barbara, 
half laughing, and half crying, and I am afraid the 
box of books from Mudie’s, tempting as it sounds, 
won’t do now, for a great deal more depends upon 
the fifty pounds than that. I don’t only want books, 
I want the intellectual life.” 

“ Oh, fudge ! child ; then you are really going to 
become one of those monsters of the present day — a 
New Woman ?” 

“ If to be a New Woman means being well educated, 
and taking an interest in life, and seeing plenty of 
my fellow men and women, then I am going to 
become one,” said Barbara stoutly. “ I have made 
up my mind,” she continued. “ What you think 
unlucky is to me a most lucky chance. Instead of 
waiting until I am twenty-one, as I should have done 
had Miss Motley made an ordinary will, I can go on 
with my education at once. My intention is to 
leave farming and go to live in London.” 

“By yourself?” Mr. Johnson started up and 
began to pace up and down the room. 

“Upon my word,” he said, “I think poor Jane 
Motley took leave of her senses when she made that 
will. Did she never find out in the years you were 
with her that in reality you are stark, staring mad. 
young lady ? ” 

Barbara could not help laughing. 

“ I expected you to oppose me,” she said ; 
“but after all I have right on my side, have I 
not ? ” 

“Yes, that is the woful part. Oh, Jane Motley, 
w^at have you not committed me to! Now come, 

I 


130 Merry Girls of England. 

Barbara, let us talk this over seriously. What can a 
little girl like you do in London by herself } ** 

“ I shall not be by myself.” 

“ Have you got any crack-brained friend to join 
you in this mad scheme ? ” 

“ I shall not be by myself ; I must not tell you 
any more, Mr. Johnson. How soon can I have the 
money ? ” 

“ Oh, pooh ! When you have satisfied me about 
other matters, the money can be easily arranged. 
Now then, what does your sister Rosamond say ? ” 

“ She does not know yet ; but I told her this 
morning that I was discontented. I will explain 
everything to her to-night. I mean to live in London. 
I mean to carry on my education. Some day I shall 
be able to use the gift which I have within me.” 

“ And what may that be, pray ? ” 

“ I shall write books.” 

“Good Heavens!” Mr. Johnson flung up his 
hands. “The child means to squander her little 
substance on the chance of a book being taken by a 
publisher. Why, my dear, the world is sick of badly 
written books. They deluge the market every week ; 
they are a disgrace to our civilisation. And so you 
mean to join that overcrowded profession — my dear 
Barbara, you will starve, or die. Something awful 
will happen if a poor little ignoramus like you plunges 
into London life.” 

“ I am not quite so silly as you think me,” said 
Barbara. “ I shall go, I assure you, most carefully 
to work. The mere fact of my only wanting to 
draw one fifth of my capital shows that I shall be 
careful.” 

Mr. Johnson took out his watch. 

“ I see that you are a very obstinate girl,” he said. 
“ Now, I must tell you candidly that I am much 





- ♦ 

W, ' ^ »%.. 

!■ 

m iaw 



i^#!^!rfa'/! i"<, 

A ^' ‘- ' ■■ 


rf 


* •- 



\”' ,■• ®^^->'/-‘ ’*’5- *' *• < .'<•'*■*1 ^ 

.Vttgi-i-' ,>-4i ‘■p\ «V' V , k-ir\'-.'<- 




S ,43iJ' £r^t ^ V It • ?vir>iUVfl ^T'.^ 



c 


il ^ 

^ * «ri i - ^ > 


''i 


?• 


) 



Vt. 


i ) 




% ( • 


" -■*•& If .y iV'J:- i 

’• 

.^- V 


#*»»•# 


A^- 


4K 


^ 'T'j 






“‘I AM ANNOYED — DEEPLY ANNOYED’” (A 131) 



Doing a Wilful Deed, 13 i 

annoyed. If I could stop this by any manner of 
means, I would, but, of course, I have no control 
over you, and if affection for your sister — your brave, 
honourable, kind sister — cannot influence you, no 
words of mine can. Yes, you shall have the money 
if you repeat your request within a week ; but, will 
or no will, I refuse to let you have a farthing of it 
until you have slept over this and consulted Rosa- 
mond. These are my last words. I must hurry 
off to my office. No, Barbara, I will not shake hands 
with you ; I am annoyed — deeply annoyed.” 

The lawyer left the room, ^slamming the door 
after him. Barbara stood very white and still. Mrs. 
Johnson heard him go, and hurried into the parlour. 
She saw Barbara standing near the window with her 
hands locked tightly together and an expression of 
pain round her lips. 

“ My dear girl,” she said, is anything wrong ? ” 

“Only that I have offended your husband very 
much,” said Barbara. 

“ My love, what a pity, and such an easy-going, 
affectionate man ! What can you have done to 
him ? ” 

“ I only asked him to let me have fifty pounds 
out of my own money because I wish to live in 
London. I hate the farm, and I won’t stay there 
any longer. Oh, please, Mrs. Johnson, don’t begin 
to scold me about it — I am so sick of being scolded.” 

“Of course, I won’t scold you, you poor little 
girl ; why, you look quite white and trembling. 
Now, I tell you what; you shall come into the 
drawing-room and rest there, and you shall have a 
cup of tea before you start on your homeward 
journey. Come along this minute. I knew what 
it was to be a girl once myself.” 

Mrs. Johnson led the way and Barbara fouAd 
I 2 


132 


Merry Girls of England, 


herself a moment later reclining luxuriously in one 
of the most comfortable chairs in the very luxurious 
little room. 

Mrs. Johnson rang the bell, and when the maid ap- 
peared she desired her to bring in tea in half an hour. 

“ And now I will leave you to yourself,” she said. 
“ There are some new magazines on the table, if you 
care to look at them.” 

She left the room as she spoke, shutting the door 
softly behind her. 

Barbara lay back where the refreshing breeze 
from an open window fanned her hot cheeks. 

“ How cruel everyone is ! ” she said to herself. 
“Just because I am determined to break my fetters, 
the whole world seems to oppose me. Of course, 
Mr. Johnson will be obliged to give me my money, 
but why should he do it in such a disagreeable way ? ” 

The last number of the Nineteenth Century lay 
close at hand ; she took it up mechanically, turned 
the pages, and soon forgot her sorrows in the interest 
which a certain article which she began to devour 
caused her. The half-hour passed all too quickly, 
and Mrs. Johnson returned to pour out tea, and to 
help Barbara to delicious hot cake. 

“ Now, you tell your sister that I am certain to 
call upon her early next week,’’ she said ; “ and, if 
I were you — Barbara, without meaning to interfere, 
of course — I would think seriously over anything 
James has said to you. He is a man of few words, 
but he has very strong feelings. He would never 
be angry without cause. That London scheme may 
be all very well, but I would not oppose those older 
than myself, if I were you.” 

“ I know you are very kind,” said Barbara, tears 
springing to her eyes, “ but none of you can under- 
stand what this means to me.” 


The Letter at the End Of The Rope. 133 

Then she got up hastily, put her arm round 
Mrs. Johnson^s neck, and gave her a hearty hug. 

“ You don’t scold me like the others, and I am 
greatly obliged to you,” she said ; “ but I cannot give 
up the scheme, for more depends on it than I can 
explain.” 

Mrs. Johnson sighed and shook her head. 

“ Poor dear child ! ” she was heard to murmur to 
herself afterwards ; “ but why is she so obstinate } 
She will come to grief if she is not careful.” 

Meanwhile, at a very late hour that evening, 
after her sisters had all gone to bed, Barbara might 
have been seen skimming lightly over the ground 
which divided the Gables from the Hall. It was a 
dark night, and, as Mrs. Chevening kept no dogs, 
there was little fear of her being either seen or heard. 
With trembling fingers she felt along the thick 
branch of the wistaria just under Hero’s window — 
yes, a thin rope or cord was hanging down. She 
fastened a letter to it, and then ran home. 

“Now I have done the deed,” she said to herself, 
“ I wonder what Hero will really decide ! ” 


CHAPTER XH. 

THE LETTER AT THE END OF THE ROPE. 

Hero Chevening was naturally a healthy-minded 
girl ; her spirits were good, her outlook on life was 
bright and full of courage. Had an ordinary life 
been granted to her, no one could have made a more 
fascinating, more delightful companion than Hero. 
Her intellect was of a first-class order ; her nature 
had plenty of poetry and also stability and affection 


134 Merry Girls of England. 

about it. She was true, too, in her character and 
firm in her intentions. Having made up her mind, 
she could keep to her resolution without having the 
strong tinge of obstinacy which characterised Barbara, 
who never in all her life took it into her head to do 
something that she did not do that thing by hook 
or by crook. Hero was more easily swayed by 
reason than Barbara could ever be, but this does 
not mean that she was in any sense of the word weak 
or vacillating ; in reality she had more width and 
depth about her than Barbara — her nature was in 
many ways sweeter, in many ways also more honour- 
able. But life had gone hard with Hero ; a mystery 
surrounded her, which she felt rather than understood. 
Why should she be shut up in this gloomy old house 
with a grandmother who, to all appearance, did not 
care about her, with a governess who was in every 
respect unsuitable and uncongenial, and with an old 
servant whose delight it was to thwart her most 
innocent and natural wishes } Why, above all things, 
was she not only condemned to this dullest of lives, 
but precluded from the smallest chance of ameliorating 
it ? Mrs. Chevening’s interview with Rosamond had 
seemed to poor Hero to add the final straw to her 
misery. When she had desired the young girl to 
give up all future intercourse with the Underhills, 
Hero felt that her cup of misery was full to the brim. 
It did not occur to her, however, to question her fate ; 
there was nothing for it but to submit. When she 
bade Barbara “Good-bye"’ on that miserable night, 
and Barbara had climbed down by the ladder of 
ropes, and Hero had pulled it up into her room and 
taken it to pieces and thrust it into an old cupboard 
in the wall, she felt that she had shut away the last 
gleam of light which represented spring and happiness 
and youth 


The Letter at the Lnd of the Rope. 13 ^ 

But when the next morning broke some of 
Barbara’s words came back to her. “ I will not 
give you up,” Barbara had said. “ Put down a rope 
of some kind from your window to-night, and I will 
send you a letter. The letter will contain news.” 

All through the long day Hero had thought of 
this letter, and wondered vaguely what it might 
contain. In Hero’s opinion, Barbara and all the other 
Underhills seemed wonderfully strong, wonderfully 
heroic girls. Their knowledge of the world compared 
to hers was immense. They knew life, and Barbara 
in particular seemed to Hero to be the very essence 
of good sense and cleverness. 

The day which followed was as dull as it could be. 
Mrs. Gunning was more disagreeable, she gave Hero 
longer and duller lessons than usual. Her task of 
sewing was more irksome than it had ever been 
before, but all through the weary hours Hero thought 
of what might happen at ten o’clock at night. She 
began to rest on Barbara, and to wonder what her 
letter would contain. 

The long day passed at last. Mrs. Gunning 
retired early to bed, the house sank into its usual 
absolute stillness, and Hero went up to the attic to 
wait anxiously for her letter. By and by she heard, 
or fancied she heard, swift footsteps coming across 
the lawn. How she wished for the moon, in order that 
she might see Barbara’s dear face! Peering down, 
however, through the darkness she could catch no 
sight of anyone, but presently a slight twitch of the 
rope told her that her friend had not forgotten her. 
She pulled it up hastily, took the letter which was 
fastened to one end, and kissed it several times. 
She then flung herself down on the nearest chair, 
tore open the envelope, and read as follows : — 

“ Dear Hero,” wrote Barbara, “have you pluck or 


136 Merry Girls of England. 

have you not ? If you have, I will help you. I have 
fully made up my mind not to live any longer at the 
farm. In a week’s time I am going to London. You 
don’t know anything about London, nor do I, but I 
am going there ; I shall live in a place called a flat. 
There will be, I believe, three rooms — a bedroom, a 
sitting-room, and a kitchen. When in London 1 
shall be entirely my own mistress. I can go to a 
great big heavenly place called the British Museum, 
which contains copies of all the books that are printed 
in every part of the world. I shall be able to read 
there from morning till night, and to take copious 
notes of what I read, and then I shall be able to 
return home in the evening, and perhaps write out my 
thoughts. I shall also see life in various ways, and 
get to know many people. I fully expect to do well. 
Now, dear Hero, I know you have no money, but I 
have a little, and I am very, very anxious to help 
you. Will you. Hero, come with me to London ? 
Will you share my dear little flat with me, and go 
every day to the British Museum and read the books 
you long to read, and learn the things you long to 
learn? Will you walk with me through the won- 
derful London streets and see the crowds of people 
passing, passing, passing, every day, and all day long? 
There is a place called the National Gallery, where 
we shall see wonderful, glorious pictures ; and there 
are parks, where we can see carriages and horses and 
lovely flowers, and gay, happy men and women, and 
we can learn and learn and learn, and no one will 
ever scold you, Hero dear, and you shall be just as 
happy as the day is long. If you will have courage 
to make up your mind to come with me just write 
the one word ‘Yes,’ and twist it up in a bit of paper 
and send it down by the rope, and I will come to 
fetch it to-morrow evening. Then you must simply 


Young Adventurers. 


137 


leave all the rest to me. I will promise to take you 
where no one shall discover you. I think I can 
manage that part ; and surely you will be happier 
with me than in your present wretched life, and, 
perhaps, when your grandmother really misses you, 
she may be induced to behave more kindly to you ! 
I have set my heart on having you. Now, won’t you 
make up your mind and be brave enough to say 
‘Yes’?” 


CHAPTER XIII. 

YOUNG ADVENTURERS. 

Nearly a fortnight went by, and at last there came 
a morning when Hero awoke with a very queer 
sensation at her heart. On the evening of this day 
she was to leave the Hall, as she fully expected, for 
ever. She was to bid her old-fashioned grand- 
mother, and dull Mrs. Gunning, and the servants 
good-bye. Not outwardly, of course, for Hero was to 
steal away from the home which might be hers some 
day, like a thief in the night. She had agreed to 
all Barbara’s propositions : she was to climb down 
from the attic by the help of the wistaria and the 
ladder of ropes, and Barbara and she in the dead 
of night, were to go up to London. Nobody 
else knew anything about it, not even Rosamond. 
Barbara had told her sister that she intended 
to leave home some day, but did not mention when. 
Mr. Johnson had been induced to trust her with 
fifty pounds of her own money. Barbara intended to 
leave a letter behind her for her sister, but no mention 
whatever was to be made of Hero. 


138 Merry Girls of England. 

It was from first to last a wild and unpractical 
scheme, planned by Barbara in a spirit of defiance, 
and accepted by Hero with shining eyes and a 
beating heart. Now, at last, the day of delivery had 
come. Hero could take no clothes away with her 
besides those in which she was to travel. She in- 
tended to leave a note for her grandmother, simply 
telling her that she was obliged to retract the promise 
she had given a fortnight ago, that she could not do 
without the Underhills, and that she was going out 
into the world to seek her fortune. The note was to 
be fastened to the pincushion in her room, and then 
the two young adventurers would start out into the 
cold world. 

It was all like a wonderful dream to Hero, but 
Barbara knew well what she was about. Barbara, 
with all her enthusiasm and dreaminess, had a certain 
amount of the matter-of-fact in her. She had written 
to the secretary of the Tenant Mansions, and w^as 
told by her that there was no flat to be let in that 
desirable house. But further correspondence had 
induced the secretary to furnish Barbara with ad- 
dresses. To these addresses she had written, and 
had at last found a little corner for herself and Hero 
in Strawberry Mansions, not very far from the British 
Museum. 

Her memory of the London she had left after her 
mother’s death was of the slightest ; but the secretary 
had kindly given her full information with regard to 
her journey, and had told her at what great terminus 
she would arrive. Once there, it would be easy for 
the girls to take a cab and drive straight to their 
destination. 

The flat which Barbara had secured for herself 
and Hero would be unfurnished, but she did 
not consider that of much consequence. The girls 


Young Adventurers. 


139 


could buy the necessaries of life on the following 
day ; and the more exciting and picnic-like their life 
was at first, so much the better. 

Hero was not anxious at all about the journey ; 
she left everything in Barbara’s hands. To Hero 
Barbara appeared an accomplished and up-to-date 
woman of the world. 

It was a hot day early in July when Hero got 
languidly out of bed. In spite of her excitement, 
there was a sorrow at her heart She was about to 
do a very bold thing ; and brave as she undoubtedly 
was, her courage began slowly to fail her. At 
breakfast-time she was almost annoyed because she 
fancied Mrs. Gunning spoke to her in a kinder voice 
than usual. 

“ I wish she would quarrel with me to-day,” 
thought the young girl. “When she talks in that 
comparatively gentle voice, and looks at me with 
those comparatively kind eyes, I feel that I am a 
brute to leave her. Now I hate being a brute. I 
want her to appear in her real character to-day. Oh, 
it is too bad of her to be a little bit nicer than 
usual ! ” 

Mrs. Gunning seemed to be reading some of 
Hero’s thoughts. 

“You look pale,” she said. “It is the hot 
weather. I happen to be particularly busy to-day. 
I am going to have the library turned out. I will 
excuse your morning lessons.” 

“ Oh, please don’t ! ” said Hero, jumping up in 
consternation. 

“Please don’t?” echoed Mrs. Gunning. “What 
new trait in your character is this ? Are you going 
to turn studious ? ” 

“Oh, no,” said Hero, colouring, and half afraid 
that her governess would read her secret. “Of 


140 Merry Girls of England. 

course, I am really glad to have a holiday ; it is 
delightful. Only, I don’t want you to be over- 
worked.” 

“ Oh, my dear, you need not think about me. It 
is really a relief to turn to something besides those 
everlasting tasks. You might practise your music, 
Piero ; only, if you do, go up to the old attic and use 
the piano there. I forgot to mention that your 
grandmother is ill.” 

“ Grannie ill .? ” said Hero, turning pale. 

“ Yes ; a trifling indisposition. Nothing to excite 
you. Please run away now. I am going to be 
dreadfully busy.” 

Hero was only too glad to leave Mrs. Gunning ; 
but she had scarcely got into the entrance-hall before 
the old servant, Frances, came up to her. 

“Miss Hero,” she said, “you are to go to your 
grandmother immediately.” 

“To Grannie.?” echoed Hero. 

“Yes, my dear. Don’t stare at me ; go at once.” 

“ Is Grannie really ill ? ” asked the young girl. 

“There is nothing whatever of consequence the 
matter with her, miss. She has just had a restless 
night, that is all.” 

“Do you mean that I am to go to her now, 
Frances?” 

“Of course, miss. You ought to know by this 
time that Mrs. Chevening does not like to be kept 
waiting.” 

Hero ran off ; she entered her grandmother’s 
bedroom. It was still quite early in the day, and the 
old lady never rose until after noon. She was sitting 
up in bed, an old-fashioned mob cap tied about her 
head, her night-dress standing out in stiff frills round 
her neck, and a little knitted shawl fastened round 
her shoulders. 


Young Adventurers. 141 

“ Come here, Hero,” she said the moment she saw 
her granddaughter. “ Sit there on the side of the 
bed. I want to speak to you.” 

“Yes, Grannie,” said the girl. 

“You are growing quite tall, my dear.” 

“ Am 1 1 ” answered Hero. 

“ Yes ; you are already much taller than I am. I 
was much admired for being small. In my day, 
Hero, little women were the fashion. Now it is all 
the rage to be big and masculine. By the way, how 
old are you. Hero ? ” 

“ Fifteen and a half,” answered Hero. 

“You will soon be grown up. In my day girls 
were quite grown up at seventeen. I married when I 
was seventeen. You will be grown up in a year and 
a half ; then, I suppose, you will wish to see 
the world.” 

“ Oh, Grannie, do you mean it ? Do you mean 
me to see the world when I am grown up — that is, in 
a year and a half.?” said Hero, beginning to tremble, 
and a queer faintness taking possession of her heart. 

“ I am not going to say what I mean. Hero. I 
only allude to what young girls as a rule expect.” 

“ But, grandmother, if you really did — did mean 
that in — in a year and a half I might ” 

“ What are you trembling and hesitating for, 
child? You don’t know how dreadfully it annoys 
me. If you have anything on your mind, pray 
speak out.” 

“ If you would promise me something ? ” 

“ I will most emphatically promise you nothing.” 

“ Grandmother, you don^t know how sick I am of 
my present life.” 

“ Very likely, Hero ; but it is quite impossible for 
me to alter matters. As far as I can tell, there is no 
apparent end to the sort of life you now lead. P 


142 Merr\ Girls of England. 

come of a strong family, and I may live for many, 
many years. Whenever I die, this place ” 

“Yes?” said Hero, breathlessly. 

“ How excited you are. You quite look as if you 
longed for my death.” 

“ Oh, grandmother, you know better,” said Hero, 
in a tone of reproach. 

“Well, my dear, I am not scolding you. When- 
ever I die this place will belong ” 

“ To me ? ” interrupted Hero. 

“ No ; there is another life between you and it.” 

“Grandmother, what can you mean? Another 
life ? ” 

“Your father’s life, Hero.” 

“ My father’s ? ” said Hero, springing to her feet. 
“ But surely, grandmother, my father is dead ? ” 

“ He is alive.” 

“ But where is he ? Oh, tell me all about him.” 

“ He is alive. Hero ; that is all I mean to say at 
present. There may come a time before long when 
you will see him. Not here ; no, he is never to come 
here. When I die this place will belong to him ; 
he will, in all probability, make ducks and drakes 
of it.” 

“ What is that. Grannie ? ” 

“ You will know when he takes possession. At 
his death it will be yours. When that time comes 
your life will be your own ; you can do as you please, 
you can be as gay as you please, as frivolous as you 
please, as utterly silly as you like ; until then you 
belong to me, and the mode of life I have sketched 
out for you 1 mean to continue.” 

“Then you will not let me see the world when 
I am seventeen ? ” asked Hero. 

“ Not if I am alive and well. Now I sent for you 
this morning in order to tell you that I think you 


Young Adventurers. 143 

are a very good girl in giving up your wishes with 
regard to those Underhills.” 

“ Oh, please don’t praise me, grandmother.” 

“ I repeat that I consider you a good girl. You 
come of a fine stock ; only there have been faulty 
members — yes, yes, terribly faulty members. As 
long as I live, I shall continue to perform what I 
consider my duty towards you. I shall guard you 
from this evil world. Now go, child; I don’t wish to 
see you again to-day.” 

“ Grannie, if — if I could be of the least importance 
to you.” 

Mrs. Chevening laughed. Her laugh was very 
like a cackle ; it was hard and thin and disagreeable 
to listen to. 

‘‘Importance to me,” she repeated. “You, a 
child like you — you are not of the slightest im- 
portance ; don’t imagine such a thing for a moment.” 

“ I mean this,” said Hero, “ I am very much in 
earnest. Does it make the least little bit of difference 
to you, Grannie, my being in the house ? ” 

“ It only makes an added trouble,” said the old 
lady. “Not that I shirk my duty — it is my duty to 
look after you, and I will do so as long as I live. 
Now, I will thank you, my dear, to ring the bell ; 
I want Frances to come here. Go away. Hero. Don’t 
torment me with any more questions.” 

“ I am glad she was a little rude and hard at the 
end,” thought Hero, as she slowly left the room ; 
“she makes what I have to do to-night less diffi- 
cult.” 

She went out into the grounds, and wandered 
away to where Frisk lay buried in a small grave 
on the summit of a little knoll. She made a 
fresh wreath of flowers to put on the grave, and 
then she stooped down and kissed the earth, and 


144 Merry Girls of England. 

came back and went slowly up to the attic and 
played over her old tiresome pieces of music. 

“ It is one comfort/’ she said to herself, as she 
strummed away at “ Les Cloches du Monast^re/’ 
‘‘ that no one in the whole house will miss me when 
I am gone. But what does Grannie mean about 
father } So father is still alive — perhaps mother is 
alive, too. What can they both have done ? I can 
scarcely remember either of them, but I believe I 
have a picture of them somewhere, an old photo- 
graph. I will run and hunt it up.” 

Leaving the piano wide open. Hero rushed down 
to her bedroom. Here Frances was busy turning 
it out. 

“Dear me, Miss Hero,” she said, “how you do 
clatter about ! Why will you pull your drawers open 
just as I am dusting the room } ” 

“ I want to find a photograph of my father and 
mother,” said Hero. “ Frances, do you remember 
them ? ” 

“ Do I remember your parents. Miss Hero ? ” 
said Frances, slightly colouring and looking as if she 
were taken aback. “ Well, ’tain’t likely I should 
forget ’em.” 

“ Do you know what Grannie said to me to-day ? ” 

Frances stared hard at Hero without replying. 

“ She said that father was alive, and that I might 
see him again some day. How queer you look, 
Frances ; you have turned quite white.” 

“ I thought the old lady was not herself,” muttered 
Frances ; “it is very unlike her to let out nonsense of 
this sort. Now look here, miss ; don’t you mind a 
word your grandmother has said.” 

“ But if it is true } ” 

“When people are past eighty they don’t always 
talk the truth,” said Frances. 


Young Adventurers, 14 ^ 

**But grandmother spoke the truth, I know” 

Well, miss, it’s neither here nor there as far as I 
am concerned — I have nothing whatever to say 
about it. As far as I can tell, your father is dead, 
and so is your mother.” 

“ I know you are concealing something from me,” 
said Hero angrily. “ Why will everyone conspire 
to treat me just as a silly baby. Look here, Frances, 
I won’t stand it any longer.” 

“ Don’t you get into one of your tantrums, miss ; 
I’m not in the humour to bear it. Now you have 
found that photograph, please go out of the room and 
let me finish doing it out.” 

“ Oh, please don’t be angry with me to-day, 
Frances.” 

“ Well, don’t you be aggravating, miss.” 

Hero went down to the schoolroom ; she opened 
the little case which contained a couple of photographs 
of her parents. The photographs were faded She 
gazed at them with a great deal of earnestness. Her 
mother’s dress was old-fashioned. She looked long 
and fixedly at the face. It was sweet without, 
perhaps, a great deal of character ; but the lips were 
pathetic and the eyes full of pleading. Nevertheless, 
at this moment it did not appeal to Hero. She 
turned with greater interest to her father’s. It 
was a dark face with good-humoured blue eyes like 
her own, a beautifully cut mouth, and aristocratic 
features. 

After all, I won’t take these photographs away,” 
thought the young girl ; “there is nothing in either 
of these faces to specially draw me — and yet, and 
yet there is a strength about father’s eyes, and perhaps 
he would let me love him. If he would let me love 
him, I should be a very happy girl. How unnatural, 
how strange I feel to-day ! Fancy my going away 

J 


146 Merry Girls of England. 

with Barbara Underhill, a girl who is no relation ; 
but it does not matter, for no one loves me here. If 
father were really alive, and if he would let me love 
him, then how happy my life would be ! ” 

When it grew dark Hero sat down in her bedroom 
and wrote a note : — 

“ Dear Grannie,” she wrote, “ I cannot bear this 
life ; it is too like prison, so I am going away. I am 
going to be quite happy and well taken care of, so 
please don’t be a bit anxious about me. Do not try 
to find me, Grannie, for I am never coming back. I 
would have stayed with you willingly if you had ever 
been the least little bit fond of me ; but I cannot do 
any longer without someone to love. So I take back 
that promise I gave to you about a fortnight ago. 
The life here is unbearable, and 1 am going away. — 
Your granddaughter, „ Chevening.” 

This note, after the time-honoured custom, was 
fastened on to her pincushion, and then, having put 
on her best Sunday frock and white hat, she waited 
impatiently for the signal which Barbara was to give 
her below. 

Mrs. Gunning was particularly tired that night, 
and went early to bed. She was startled just at the 
last moment by Hero running in and offering to 
kiss her. 

" Good-night, Gunning,” she said ; ‘‘ I just wish to 
say ” 

“Oh, don’t bother me now with any of your 
sayings. Hero,” said her governess crossly; “I have 
a great deal on my mind.” 

“ Have you seen Grannie .^” asked Hero. 

“Yes, I have just bidden her good-night,” 

“ Does she seem quite well ? ” 


Young Adventui^ers, 


H7 


“ Perfectly well ; why not ? ” 

“ I thought this morning she was not quite 
herself.” 

“ She has absolutely recovered. Now go to bed, 
and don’t talk any more nonsense. Be up early in 
the morning ; I shall give you some extra lessons to 
make up for this enforced holiday.” 

Hero crept up to her attic quite cheerfully. 

“ Gunning is nice and nasty to-night,” she said to 
herself. “It is delightful. Now I shall not have 
one bit of regret when I go.” 

She turned the key in the attic door, opened the 
tiny window, and looked out. It was a dark night, 
which was all the better. A soft breeze came in at 
the window and fanned Hero’s flushed cheeks. She 
began to think of Frisk in his lonely grave. In 
reality, the only regret she felt at leaving the Hall 
was the thought of Frisk ; he would no longer have 
nice flowers laid upon his grave. 

“If the dear dog can think, he will miss them,” 
she said to herself ; “ but of course he does not think 
any more. He was the only creature that ever 
loved me all the time I was at the Hall. I am glad, 
very glad I am going with Barbara ; for Barbara 
does love me.” 

At this point in her meditations soft footsteps 
were heard gliding across the grass. 

Hero listened, her heart beating fast — the foot- 
steps paused under the window. It was too dark to 
see Barbara’s face. 

Hero took the ladder of ropes, which she had 
remade once more, out of her cupboard, and fastened 
it securely to the window ledge. She then dropped 
it down, and Barbara made it taut below. 

“Cling tightly on to the wistaria/ whispered 
Barbara ; “ I nearly fell when I got down that night \ 
J 2 


1^8 Merry Girls of England. 

but if you cling on to the wistaria you will be 
all right” 

Hero was light and agile as a cat — she soon 
climbed down the ladder. 

“ Free at last,” she said, gasping for breath. She 
turned, and clasped Barbara’s arm. 

“We are not out of the wood yet,” whispered 
Barbara back ; “ not until we are safe in the train. 
Oh, Hero, Hero ; now that I am really doing it, it 
does seem dreadful.” 

“ For goodness sake don’t frighten me, or I’ll gc 
back at once,” said Hero. 

“ That would be nonsense ; we’ll be all right 
when we are in the train. I sent off my luggage 
this morning. Not a soul knows that I have left 
home for good. Poor Rosamond, I could ciy when 
I think of her face in the morning.” 

“ Barbara, if you feel like that, do let us give it 
up,” said Hero, standing away from her friend, and 
trembling. 

“ As if I could,” said Barbara. “ Of course, I 
knew there would be pain at the end ; it is the 
wrench, you know ; but we’ll both be all right when 
we are in the train going to London ; and in three 
months’ time I’ll write to Rosamond. I left her a 
nice letter, telling her she would hear from me in 
three months. Oh, what a horrid life a farmer’s is. 
Well, I am free of it at last.” 

“ And I am free of Gunning, and Grannie, and 
Frances,” said Hero, with a laugh. “Barbara, is it 
safe for us to stay talking here any longer } ” 

“No, we had better hurry away,” said Barbara. 
“ Hold my arm, Hero, that will prevent your falling. 
Now, are you accustomed to walking in the dark, 
or not ? ” 

“ I know every inch of the place,” answered Hero. 


Young Adventurers. 


149 


^‘Well, we must go quickly. We have four miles 
to get to Kettering Junction, and the train arrives 
there a few minutes after twelve ; it is now a quarter 
to eleven, so we really have not too much time. 
Why, surely. Hero, you are not going in those slim 
little shoes ? ” 

“ I have a pair of thick ones in my handbag ; I 
was afraid to put them on before because they creak 
so dreadfully. Gunning says they are cut on the 
cross, ril put them on when we reach the stile.” 

“ Well, come along ; let us be quick.” 

The girls hurried forward in silence ; both 
their hearts were beating fast. At this latter end of 
the nineteenth century it seemed queer and out of 
date to be simply two adventurers, stealing from their 
homes ; nevertheless, the excitement and the strange- 
ness kept Hero up, and Barbara’s thoughts were all 
her own. 

They reached the stile, where Hero changed 
her shoes. 

Then they plunged boldly into the dusty 
high road. 

“ I have some sandwiches and a little sherry in 
this bag,” said Barbara ; “ I thought, perhaps. Hero, 
you would be hungry on the journey.” 

“ I feel as if I could never eat again,” said Hero. 
“ How my heart does thump. Does yours thump, 
Barbara ” . 

“ I should think it does, it half chokes me ; but 
when we are in the train we’ll be all right.” 

“ Do you know, Barbara, Grannie was not well 
last night. She had a long talk with me this morning. 
Had she said something which she did not say, I 
would have given up going with you.” 

“ Well, for goodness sake, don’t talk of it now ; 
I am just as nervous as possible,” said Barbara. 


150 Merry uirls of England, 

They walked steadily forward, their footsteps 
keeping time, their hearts beating wildly. The long 
winding road to Kettering Seemed as if it would 
never end. At long last they saw the straggling 
houses, which made up the little town, and the 
chimneys and outposts of the station. They arrived 
at Kettering Station just as the clock struck twelve. 

“We are barely in time,” said Barbara, with a 
pant, “ What a good thing we did not loiter on 
the road.” 

A sleepy looking porter was standing on the 
platform. He stared as the dusty, draggled looking 
girls came in. 

“We want to catch the train to London,” said 
Barbara ; “are we in time ? ” 

“Yes, miss, plenty of time if you look sharp. 
The train is just signalled ; there is the booking- 
office.” 

Barbara hurried to the office ; she bought two 
third-class tickets, and a moment later the great 
train came booming in. 

The porter shoved the girls into a third-class 
compartment, already half full of people, the whistle 
sounded, and the train left the platform. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

BARBARA’S LITTLE PIN-PRICKS OF CONSCIENCE. 

The day was a sultry one, towards the beginning of 
September, and not a breath of air seemed to come 
through the wide-open windows of the little flat. 
Barbara was seated with her legs curled up under 
her on the broad ledge of the open window. She 


Little Pin-Pricks of Conscience, 15 i 

had a small account book on her knee, and was 
putting down figures and casting up sums with a 
perplexed expression on her face. Her thick black 
hair was hanging over her brow. The colour which 
had given character and force to her expression when 
in the country had now left her cheeks ; they looked 
thin and somewhat sallow. As she sat her dress was 
hitched up at the side, and one somewhat forlorn- 
looking little slipper was thrust into view. 

Hero Chevening was standing near a small stove, 
busily engaged frying eggs and bacon for tea. Hero 
looked as smart as Barbara did the reverse. She 
was neatly dressed in a long plain frock, which hung 
about her graceful figure in soft folds. Her thick 
hair was turned up into a picturesque mass of con- 
fusion at the back of her head. There was a great 
deal of colour in her cheeks, and a considerable 
amount of animation in her dark blue eyes. She was 
turning her eggs with the air of an expert, and 
chatting volubly all the time. 

“I wish. Hero, you would stop talking!” called 
out Barbara. “ I am always getting these dreadful 
accounts so mixed. I am quite determined to put 
them straight before I go to bed to-night.” 

Hero did not say another word. She bent over 
her eggs, then started back as the hot fat sputtered 
into her face. Soon the eggs were cooked to 
perfection, and were popped on to a hot dish. Hero 
put the dish into the oven, and then proceeded to lay 
the cloth. She laid places for three, put bread and 
butter on the table, made some coffee, and finally 
placed the dish with the eggs and bacon at one end 
of the board. 

“Now, Barbara, come along; tea is ready,” she 
called out. “ I don’t suppose you mean to wait 
for Lucy ? ” 


152 Merry Girls of England. 

“ I make a point of never waiting for Lucy,” said 
Barbara, frowning as she spoke. 

She got off the window-ledge, drew up her figure, 
stretched her arms, and gave vent to a yawn. 

“ How dreadfully close it is,” she said, with a 
gasp. “ I am certain we are going to have a thunder- 
storm. Oh, Hero, you have forgotten to turn off 
the gas ! That is one reason why the room is so 
insufferably hot.” 

“ Half of your discontent, Barbara, arises from the 
fact that you will never take your meals properly,” 
replied Hero. 

Barbara seated herself, raised the cover from the 
appetising little dish which Hero had prepared, and 
helped herself to a fried egg and a morsel of bacon. 

“ I am not hungry,” she said. “ I thought, of 
course, I should be ravenous ; but somehow or other, 
Hero, those dreadful accounts take all the appetite 
out of me.” 

“ I wish you would give them to me to do,” said 
Hero in a gentle voice. 

She smoothed back her own hair, and helped 
herself to an egg, which she began to eat with 
appetite. 

‘‘If ever there was anyone who utterly astonishes 
me, you are that person, Hero,” said Barbara, after a 
pause, as she gazed fixedly at her friend. “ I never 
thought that I should get tired of living in London 
and reading at the British Museum, and living in a 
little flat like this ; but the fact is ” 

“ Don’t say. you are tired. Don’t say you want to 
give it up,” said Hero, a note of pain in her voice. 

“ I donT mean to give it up ; my pride would say 
‘No’ to anything of that sort. But the fact is, I am 
just in a down mood at the present moment.” 

“Of course you are, you poor, dear old Babs | ” 


Little Pin- Pricks of Conscience. 153 

said Hero. “Now you are not to speak until you 
have made a right good meal. Do you see this 
plump egg .? Have not I done it beautifully } You 
are to eat it. Oh^ yes ; I insist ! And you are to 
drink off your cup of coffee. Afterwards we will go 
to the top of the house and sit on the leads.” 

“ I hate sitting on the leads ; one gets so covered 
with smuts.” 

“We will take a shawl and spread it on the floor, 
and we can take our camp chairs and have quite a 
cosy time. Barbara, I don’t think Lucy can be 
coming to-night.” 

“It does not matter whether she comes or not,” 
said Barbara, suppressing another yawn. “ Hero, I 
wish I had your spirit. I never supposed I should 
be the one to give in.” 

“ It is just because you are not well, poor darling. 
You work too hard, and have not enough to eat. I 
am certain when you use your brain as much as you 
do, Barbara, you ought to have plenty of nourish- 
ment — good meat, and all that sort of thing.” 

“Really, Hero, you quite distress me. You talk 
as wisely as if you were an old woman.” 

“ In some ways I feel like an old woman,” 
answered Hero, “but in other ways I do not. I 
never felt happier in my life than I do now. It is 
the freedom and the change,” she added. “ Oh, the 
life is delightful ! ” 

The two girls were seated in the little kitchen of 
the flat. It was a tiny room, beautifully built, but 
furnished in a very scanty manner. The kitchen 
opened into a small sitting-room, which opened again 
into a minute bedroom. Hero slept on a sofa in the 
sitting-room, and Barbara had the bedroom to 
herself. A ten-pound note had furnished the flat. 

The girls had now lived in London for over two 


154 Merry Girls of England. 

months ; but the weather, September as it was, was 
sultry and motionless in the extreme. The atmo- 
sphere felt stagnant, the green trees looked no longer 
green, but grey. Barbara, although she hated to 
acknowledge it even to herself, longed indescribably 
for the fresh, pure air of the country. There was an 
ache at her heart which she would scarcely admit 
that she possessed. 

Hero, on the contrary, was so fully alive to the 
pleasures of her present life that she had no time 
for gloomy musings. She was naturally a bright, 
merry-hearted girl, and inclined to make the best 
of everything. 

“There, I have finished at last,” said Barbara, 
with a sigh. “ Perhaps there will be a little more air 
on the roof. Come along. Hero ; let us get out there.” 

Hero rose quickly. 

“Just let me put by the tea-things first,” she said. 
“ If you go up, Barbara, I’ll be with you in less than 
five minutes.” 

Barbara slowly left the room, and Hero soon 
joined her. She brought an old shawl, which she 
spread under Barbara’s feet ; and then the two girls 
opened their camp chairs and seated themselves 
comfortably. 

There was not a cloud in the heavens. The sun 
had long set, and the stars were out. Barbara put 
her hand to her forehead. 

“ How my stupid head does ache,” she said. 

“You have headaches because you have taken too 
much upon you,” said Hero. She looked anxiously 
at her companion. 

Barbara lay back in her chair, with great black 
shadows under her eyes. She did not look a bit like 
the girl who had been so resolute and defiant not 
three months ago at the Gables, 


Little Pin- Pricks of Conscience, 155 

Look here,” she said, bending forward and 
touching Hero on her sleeve, “ I have almost made 
up my mind to do something.” 

“ What is that } ” asked Hero. 

“ To write to Rosamond.” 

“ I am very glad ; 1 think you ought to have done 
so long ago.” 

“ I could not bring myself to the scratch. Now I 
am going to confide something to you, Hero. From 
the day I set foot in this flat an ache began in my 
heart, which has never ceased day nor night. I think 
I have behaved very badly to the girls at home. I 
hate myself for it. I shall write to Rosamond and 
tell her where I am.” 

“ But you don’t think of giving it all up } ” said 
Hero, a new timidity coming into her voice. 

No, Hero, how could I ? Why, fifty pounds of 
our money has gone. How we spent it I don’t know, 
for we have certainly been most careful ; we have not 
allowed ourselves a single unnecessary luxury.” 

“We have allowed ourselves no luxuries,” said 
Flero stoutly. “But please don’t forget, Barbara, 
that twenty-five pounds out of that fifty I am bound 
to return to you.” 

“You! but you cannot do it. You are far less 
fitted than I am to earn your own living.” 

Hero did not reply, but a smile flitted across her 
bright face. 

“We won’t talk about money matters to-night,” 
she said, after a pause ; “ they are always worrying. 
Will you write to Rosamond now, or will you wait 
until the morning } ” 

“I could not write a coherent word to-night; I 
must wait until to-morrow. Of course, Rosamond 
does not expect to hear from me until the three 
months are up, but if I write sooner she will be all 


156 ' Merry Girls of England. 

the better pleased. Oh dear, I wonder how she is, 
and how they are getting on at the farm, and how 
the other girls are ! It is dreadful, you know. Hero, 
to be one of four girls, and suddenly to see nothing 
at all of one’s sisters.” 

“ I suppose so,” answered Hero ; I never had a 
sister, therefore I don’t fret. I don’t feel sorry about 
Grannie, nor Mrs. Gunning, nor Frances. You know. 
Grannie did tell me that I was a bother in the house, 
perhaps she is much happier now I am not with her ; 
but I have been useful to you — you love me, do you 
not, Bab ? ” 

“ I should simply have died without you,” said 
Barbara in an affectionate tone. She leant up 
against Hero as she spoke. 

“Things are so different from what I expected,* 
she said, “and of all people no one has more dis- 
appointed me than Lucy Tregunter. When she 
came to town and looked us up, I thought she was 
going to be kind, and she does know a lot of literary 
people ; and when we were asked to that ‘ At Home,’ 
don’t you remember. Hero, how excited we both 
were } And I absolutely spent two or three pounds 
over our dresses. She said she would introduce us 
to one or two real, living writers, and there was an 
artist, who was a special friend of hers, and we were 
to get to know him. And then one of the Professors 
at the British Museum, who would let me see books 
which ordinary girls could not get at, was to be 
there. Oh! what did she not promise, and then 
when the night came we were just allowed to sit 
in a corner, and no one took a scrap of notice of 
us. Lucy just nodded when we came in, and did 
not speak to us the whole evening. Didn’t I hate 
her for it I ” 

“Well,” said Hero, “it was not so bad as all that, 


Little Pin-Pricks of Conscience, 157 

to me at least ; and I think, Barbara,” she continued, 
“ that you are a little hard on Lucy. She ought not 
to have made the promise, of course, but she is 
naturally very thoughtless, and thinks a great deal 
of herself. People who think of themselves have 
not much time to think of others — how can they } ” 

“ You speak as if it were not a fault to think so 
much of one’s self,” said Barbara in surprise. 

“ I don’t know anything about that,” answered 
Hero lightly; “only, somehow, I don’t blame Lucy 
much, for she does live up to her character. It 
amuses me very much to study character, I see all 
sorts here, from Mrs. Halliday, on the next floor, to 
your friend, Lucy Tregunter. When I have settled 
in my mind what sort of character a person has, it 
rather vexes me than otherwise if that person does 
not live up to my imaginings. Now, Lucy has never 
disappointed me, so I am not angry with her.” 

“Well, after all, you had not so much cause to 
be angry as I had. Do you remember that nice, 
white-haired old man who talked to you, and asked 
you lots of questions ? ” 

“ None of which I was able to answer for fear 
of betraying your secret, Barbara. Oh, Bab, I am 
glad you are going to write to Rosamond at last ! ” 
“It will take a weight off my mind,” said Barbara; 
“ and now that my head has got a little cooler I 
will just get straight into bed. I want to be at 
the British Museum as soon as it opens to-morrow, 
for I have a particularly hard day’s work to get 
through.” 


Chapter xv. 

HERO TO THE RESCUE. 

Early the next morning Barbara was up ; her head- 
ache was forgotten, she was once more enthusiastic 
and eager. She ate a hearty breakfast, and soon 
afterwards started for the British Museum. When 
she left the room Hero glanced around her. 

“Now then,” she reflected, “to be as quick as 
possible over my necessary work, and then for my 
promised interview with Lucy Tregunter.” 

She slipped her hand into her pocket and took 
out a purse. It was a small purse, and decidedly 
very flat. She opened it and took out half-a-crown. 

“Only one half-crown,” she murmured. “ If ever 
two-and-sixpence was meant to do a good day’s 
work this is the one. It must buy dinner for Barbara 
and me, and something for supper, and a little more 
tea. Tea is so expensive, but there is not another 
scrap in the canister. Then it must pay my omnibus 
fare to Lucy’s grand house in Belgravia. Well, 
somehow it will have to manage; and now I have 
not a moment to waste.” 

Hero put on her hat and ran downstairs. She 
soon reached the shops, made her small purchases, 
and came home again. 

“ How delicious that little chop will be when I 
cook it in the way Flora Steele told me ! ” she said 
to herself ; “ and Barbara shall eat every single scrap 
of it. I have often noticed that Barbara seems ever 
so much brighter after she has had a downright good 
meal. Well, she shall have her chop for dinner. As 


Hero to the Rescue. 


159 


for me, it is really well that I like e^s^gs, for I certainly 
do manage to consume a good many. Here are two 
eggs for my dinner, and a chop for Barbara’s, and this 
little salad will be delicious when it is cut up — oh, 
and these apples were so cheap that I was tempted 
to get a pound. We live luxuriously, when all is said 
and done ; and there is plenty of money over to pay 
my omnibus fare to Belgravia.” 

Hero looked at the little Bee clock on the 
mantelpiece. It now pointed to a quarter to ten. 

“ Time is getting on,” she said to herself. “ I 
would not have Bab miss me when she returns home 
between twelve and one for the world. So now I 
must hurry away as fast as ever I can.” 

Taking the key of the flat in her pocket, she 
ran downstairs, soon found the right omnibus, and 
got upon the roof. Here she really did enjoy herself. 
The convenances of society meant nothing at all to 
Hero Chevening. The knowledge that she was a little 
Bohemian, living as best she could, and enjoying 
herself thoroughly, was at present the very breath 
of her existence. More than one fellow-passenger 
stared at the bright-looking, pretty girl, commented 
on the happy smiles which came and went on her 
rosy lips, on the light in her frank eyes, on the 
pleasant expression of her face. 

When Hero jumped up at last to go down the 
omnibus stairs, an old gentleman held out his hand 
to assist her. 

“Thankyou,”shesaid, bestowing a brightsmileupon 
him, which he remembered during the rest of the day. 

" Doubtless she lives about here,” he said to 
himself. “A good girl, well bred, and every inch a 
lady — anyone can see that with half a glance at her.” 

Meanwhile, Hero was hurrying down several 
streets until at last she reached her destination. 


i6o Merry Girls of England. 

Lucy’s father had taken a house in Eaton Square 
for the season. The season was long ago over, but, 
for some reason, Lucy liked to linger in town. It 
is true she had been abroad for three weeks, but 
was now back again in Eaton Square for at least 
a fortnight. She had paid more than one visit to 
Barbara and Hero, and Hero was now coming to 
see her by special appointment. 

She ran up the steps of the big house, and sounded 
the front-door bell vigorously. A man-servant opened 
the door, and stared superciliously at the humble- 
looking little applicant for admission. Shabby as 
Hero’s dress was, however, there was something 
about her face which always inspired respect. When 
she asked if Miss Tregunter were in, the man was 
obliged to reply civilly. 

“ I have come by appointment,” said Hero. “ Will 
you kindly say that Miss Hero Chevening has called.” 

“ Come this way, please, miss,” he said. 

He conducted Hero into a small but prettily- 
furnished room on the ground floor. 

“I will inform Miss Tregunter that you are here, 
miss,” he said. 

He closed the door softly behind him. 

A moment later Lucy came in. As she opened 
the door she yawned ; when she shut it behind her 
she yawned more profoundly. 

“ My dear Hero,” she said, “so you have managed 
to come. Let me tell you at once that you find me 
in one of my most languid and unpropitiatory moods.” 

“ Well, I don’t see that that matters to me,” 
answered Hero. “If you are tired, I suppose you 
cannot help yourself. Only, Lucy, I am sorry you 
disappointed Barbara last night.” 

“My dear, I could not possibly come ; the heat 
was much too intense.” 


Hero to the Rescue. i 6 i 

**You might have had the civility to send a 
telegram.” 

“The civility! You little puss, how dare you 
speak to me like that 1 ” 

“ Oh, I dare to speak to you in my own way, 
Lucy. Rich as you are, it was very rude. ‘ Noblesse 
oblige ’ ought to have forced you to send a telegram.” 

“ ‘ Noblesse oblige ! ' ” said Lucy. 

She was dressed in the mos't correct fashion. 
There was not a single thing about her which did 
not denote the worldly and prosperous young woman 
of the present day, but, with all her grand clothes 
and her fine airs, there was a distinction about Hero, 
a certain way in which she flung back her delicate 
neck, and a certain scornful gleam in her dark blue 
eyes, which no dress and no money could ever obtain 
for Lucy. 

The latter flopped down on the nearest chair and 
stared at her companion. 

“ Do take a seat,” she said ; “ it irritates me to 
see you standing.” 

“ I would much rather sit,” said Hero. “ I am 
tired ; I have done a good morning’s work already 
to-day. Now then, Lucy, are you going to take me 
to the old lady ? ” 

“ What old lady ?” 

“ How perfectly cruel you are I ” said Hero, 
stamping her foot. “You know quite well what I 
have come about this morning; you promised to 
introduce me to an old lady who, you said, would 
require my services as a companion, and who is going 
to give me a pound a week. You don’t mean to say 
that she has found someone else ? ” 

“Not that I know of, my dear Hero. I remember 
now, of course, to whom you allude — Mrs. Jennings — 
but she is a very disagreeable person.” 

K 


1 62 Merry Girls of England. 

“ I don’t mind a scrap about that.” 

“ She is so fidgety, and so set upon her dogs. 
She is nearly mad on the subject of dogs.” 

“ Ah, poor thing ! I once loved a dog very 
dearly. What is her address, Lucy ? Are you going 
to take me to her } ” 

“ I cannot possibly do so this morning ; I am 
much too dead tired. You could not expect me to 
tramp out in this heat.” 

“Well, of course, I could, because you promised,” 
said Hero ; “ but if it is too much for you, and if 
you would prefer to write a note ? ” 

“ I should much prefer it.” 

“ Well, then, get it done. Sit down at once ; 
here is your davenport.” 

“ Hero, how peremptory you are !” 

“ I am peremptory, Lucy, becau^.e my need is 
peremptory. Barbara has come to the end of her 
resources ; her fifty pounds are all spent, and nothing 
will induce me to allow her to touch another half- 
penny of her capital. If I get a pound a week from 
Mrs. Jennings, I can at least support myself and do 
something to help Barbara. You see, it is absolutely 
necessary that I should secure this situation. But 
no, of course, I forgot you cannot see — you who have 
more of that tiresome, sickening, ivorldly money than 
you know what to do with. Oh, a little of it is 
splendid, but much of it hardens the heart.” 

“You do talk in a strange way — you are the 
queerest child I ever met,” said Lucy. “ I will write 
immediately to Mrs. Jennings. Is it too much for 
you to hand me that blotting-pad and bottle of ink > 
Ah, thanks ! ” 

Lucy wrote a short note. Hero stood by the 
open window and looked out. 

“ Do be quick,” she said at last impatiently. “ I 


Hero to the Rescue. 163 

must see Mrs. Jennings and settle up this business, 
and be back again at our flat in Bloomsbury in order 
to have Barbara’s dinner ready by one o’clock. I don’t 
suppose you ever hurried so much in all your life as I 
have got to do, Lucy. Ah, thank you.” 

“Here is the letter,” said Lucy. “Mrs. Jennings 
lives at the other side of the Square, so it won’t take 
you long to go to her. No. no. Just take the note. 
When she reads it, I think she is certain to give you 
an interview.” 

“ Thank you very much, Lucy. If I get this situ- 
ation I shall love you all my life, though, of course 
you are not a bit my style. Now, when do you intend 
going to see Barbara ? ” 

“ I cannot tell you. Perhaps to-night, perhaps to- 
morrow night, don’t say anything about it ; expect me 
when you see me. Oh dear, this heat quite knocks 
me up. There is a fan on that table, will you pass it 
to me on your way out ? ” 

Hero gave a large fan to Lucy, bestowed a 
full puzzled glance upon her, and then , left the 
room. 

She walked quickly across the Square, until at 
last she found herself at No. no. Here she walked 
up the steps and rang the bell ; there was a little 
delay before the door was opened, and then a tall 
sallow-faced woman stood before the young girl. 

“Is your mistress in ? ” asked Hero. 

“Yes, miss ; but she does not see visitors.” 

“Perhaps she will see me if you take her this 
note. It is from Miss Tregunter, who lives at the 
other side of the Square.” 

“Do you mind waiting outside, miss? I have 
strict orders not to admit anyone on account of the 
dogs. I will not be a moment in bringing you down 
my mistress’s answer.” 

K 2 


164 Merry Girls of England, 

Hero said that she did not at all mind waiting on 
the steps. 

The woman went slowly away, leaving the door 
slightly ajar. Hero peeped into the great big house, 
which was very close, and looked dark and dismal. 

After an interval of about ten minutes, the servant 
came back. 

“ My mistress will see you. Miss Chevening,” she 
said. “You need not be afraid, I have locked up 
the dogs.” 


CHAPTER XVI. 

THE SIX DOGS. 

Hero followed the woman into the deserted looking 
house; the close smell seemed to take her breath 
away. All the windows were securely fastened down ; 
they were dusty too, and Hero noticed cobwebs 
clinging round the ledges. The woman conducted 
her up some carpetless stairs. They passed a shut 
door on the first landing, where several dogs were 
whining and barking loudly. 

“ You just stay where you are, you torments ! ” 
called out the woman at this juncture. “ My poor 
mistress is mad on the subject of her dogs, miss ; but 
then she has a good many other crazes, poor dear. 
Well, you’ll soon find that out for yourself.” 

“ How do you know that I shall ? ” asked Hero in 
some surprise. 

“ Of course I know what you have come about, 
miss. Mrs. Jennings got me to read Miss Tregunter’s 
note aloud to her. I am sure I do hope you will suit. 
This is my mistress’s room ; you won’t tell her that I 
have said anything, will you } ” 


The Six Dogs. 


i6s 

‘‘ Certainly not,” replied Hero with dignity. 

The woman threw open a door on the third land- 
ing, and the little girl went in. 

An old lady, considerably bowed with age, with a 
crabbed face and piercing black eyes, was seated in a 
chair at the extreme end of the room. She was peer- 
ing eagerly forward, and when Hero appeared, she 
beckoned to her with one of her withered hands. 

“Come up here close to me, my dear,” she said. 
“ Ah, I see you are quite a young girl ; I am glad of 
that. I am so tired of middle-aged and elderly 
people. I believe I should be ever so much better 
if I had a little youth near me. You can leave us, 
Dawson ; pray be very careful to shut the door after 
you.” 

The servant withdrew. Hero heard the dogs 
howling and barking in the distance. 

“ My dear,” said the little old lady, “ have the 
goodness to find yourself a seat ; draw it up close to 
me so that I may have a good stare at you. If you 
come to me I shall have to study your face every day, 
and if you happen to have an inane, purposeless sort 
of face with no expression, I am certain to get sick 
of it very soon ; but if, on the contrary, you have a 
sparkling face with a changing expression, why you 
can quite understand, love, it will be a sort of amuse- 
ment to me to watch it.” 

“ I hope my face will please you,” said Hero. 

“ Well, to begin with, your voice does. Now are 
you comfortable 1 Is that chair quite to your mind ? ” 

“Quite, thank you,” answered Hero, in surprise 
and pleasure ; the little old lady did not seem very 
formidable, after all. 

“ I hope you will be able to engage me,” she 
continued eagerly, “ for I really do want a situation 
so badly.” 


1 66 Merry Girls of England. 

This remark, which would have sickened Lucy 
Tregunter, seemed to please the little woman. 

“ You reaUy do } ” she said. “ Well, of course that 
fact ought not to influence me ; it ought to be qu. .e the 
other way, for girls who are in want of situations are 
as a rule worthless sort of girls. My dear, I have a 
maxim which I have never yet found turn out false. 
It is this ; ‘ The labourer is worthy of his hire.’ If you 
are capable of doing good work, you are certain to 
get good work to do. Now, you say you want a situa- 
tion, therefore does not that prove that you cannot do 
good work } ” 

“ By no means,” answered Hero with spirit, “ for 
everyone must begin, and I iiever was m a situation 
before.” 

Good gracious ! Then you have not the least 
scrap of experience.” 

“ No ; but if I serve you, and serve you well, you 
will give me experience,” said Hero. 

“ I like that,” said the little woman, “ and I think 
you are a very honest sort of girl. You are also, I 
should imagine, a lady by birth.” 

“ I think I am,” replied Hero, “ but I really do not 
much care whether I am or not.” 

“ My dear girl, that is very wrong of you, most dis- 
respectful to your ancestors. What is the good of 
having ancestors if a girl is not proud of them ? In 
my early days nothing was thought of like family, but 
now in these degenerate times, family — pooh ! it is 
simply cast to the winds. People think of nothing 
but money. My dear Miss — what did you say your 
name was ? ” 

“ Chevening,” answered Hero. 

“ Chevening ? ” said the little lady, colouring and 
starting. “ That is a peculiar and uncommon name. I 
once knew some Chevenings ; oh, I am not going into 


The Six Bogs. 


167 

all that now. They could not have been relations of 
yours, they were very grand county people. What is 
your Christian name .? ” 

“ Hero — Hero Chevening.” 

“ Hero ? Heroine, you mean ; most ridiculous 
name in any case, but Hero is a man’s name.” 

“ I was called after one of Shakespeare’s heroines, 
and my name is Hero.” 

Mrs. Jennings put up both her hands to her 
ears. 

“ Don’t tell me another word,” she said. “ I con- 
sider Shakespeare’s plays unfit for any pious young 
woman to read. I shall call you Miss Chevening, or 
Chevening perhaps. I will not call you Hero unless 
you can positively assure me that it is a family name, 
and that you do not get it from Shakespeare.” 

“ I am afraid I cannot tell you that, Mrs. 
Jennings, for it will not be the truth.” 

“ Well, 1 see you have a spirit of your own ; we 
will let the name pass. So you really wish to come 
to me as my companion ? ” 

“ Provided you pay me a pound a week.” 

“ Miss Chevening, you are what I call a very 
square young person ; you speak out your sentiments. 
So you are merely coming to me for the money? ” 

“ I am afraid that is all, Mrs. Jennings. I want the 
money very badly.” 

“ You shall tell me about that afterwards ; it will 
interest me. I hope you have had experiences ; I love 
listening to experiences, exciting ones. I should like 
you to tell me exactly what the pangs of real hunger 
are like, it will be most entertaining. Are you one of 
a very large family ? ” 

“I am an only child.” 

“ What a pity ! Is your mother a sempstress, or 
does she take in washing ? ” 


i 68 Merry Girls of England. 

“ I told you just now that I am a lady, and my 
mother is not living.” 

“ Poor little girl, you are an orphan. Of course 
I ought to be kind to you. Now, however, I think 
I have questioned you enough ; you are poor, and 
would like to come to me because you wish to earn 
a pound a week. Don’t you think fifteen shillings 
would be enough, particularly as you have had no 
experience ? ” 

“ I could not come for less than a pound a week,” 
answered Hero. “ I could not manage with less. 
If you can give me that I will come to you and do 
my very utmost to please you, but if you cannot, 
why ” 

“You will reject the situation?” said Mrs. 
Jennings, nodding her head, and fixing her blade 
eyes very keenly upon Hero’s face. “ Well, child, 
don’t be alarmed ; if you suit me in other ways, five 
shillings extra will not ruin me. If you come to me, 
your duties will be very plain. You will sit in this 
room with me the greater part of the day. You and 
I will have our meals together, and if the weather is 
suitable go out for an airing. We shall also from 
morning to night have the dogs with us. And now, 
Miss Chevening, that brings me to a most important 
question. Are you devoted to animals ? ” 

Hero stared very hard back at Mrs. Jennings. 
Mrs. Jennings fixed her piercing black eyes on the 
young girl’s face. 

‘‘Once,” said Hero slowly, “I had a dog; he 
was my best friend — his name was Frisk. He was 
caught in a trap and broke his leg badly, and had 
to be shot. When I left my home in the country, 
I also left my dear dog’s grave behind me.” 

“ Poor, poor child, what an appalling affliction ! ” 
Mrs. Jennings laid her withered hand on Hero’s 


The Six Dogs. 


169 

slender little arm. “Well,” she said, “if you come 
to me you will meet dogs small, dogs of medium size, 
and one big dog. I keep six dogs, my love. They 
are my true companions, they are the real solace of 
my life. Do you think you could bear with them — 
do you think you could be kind to them — do you 
think you could put up with their whims ?” 

“ I love dogs,” said Hero. 

“Then that settles it,” answereji Mrs. Jennings. 
“If you love dogs and they take to you, you shall 
come to me to-morrow morning. But, first of all, 
I must put you to the test. I must send for the 
dogs, and find out if they take to you. 

“ And you will really give me a pound a week } ” 

“ I will really give you a pound a week, you 
pertinacious, greedy child. It is a frightful lot of 
money, and I don’t know what Dawson will say ; 
it will almost ruin me — but still, I like your voice, and 
I like your manner. Now I will begin to describe 
your duties. You must be with me. Miss Chevening, 
every morning sharp at nine o’clock. We will then 
give the dogs their breakfast and have our own. 
After breakfast you must go out into the Park with 
the dogs for an hour. They will be fastened to 
leashes, and you will lead them. On very, very fine 
days I will accompany you, leaning on your arm, my 
dear. At the end of the hour of exercise you and 
the dogs will come back, and then you will read aloud 
to me. I never care for any literature which does not 
describe the canine race, but I have invested in 
several large books on the subject, and a most 
interesting article on the dog has lately appeared in 
the “ Encyclopaedia Britannica,” which I want you 
to read also to me, and to write out extracts from. 
As a rule, a veterinary surgeon arrives once a week 
to see that my darlings are in perfect health and to 


lyo Mfrry Girls of England. 

order their diet. The difficulty with dogs, as I 
daresay you know, is to give them enough exercise, 
and to prevent their accumulating fat ; at the same 
time the tenderest petting and love are absolutely 
necessary to draw out the dear creatures. Dogs have 
wonderful characters, my dear Miss Chevening ; you 
will find that out when you have been long with me. 
In the afternoon you will take the dogs for another 
walk, and come back again and read aloud to me. 
Some days I shall have to send you to Mudie’s. I 
have a subscription always running at Mudie's, and 
I ask them week after week the invariable question, 
‘ Has a new dog story appeared ? ’ If it has I read it 
in Mudie’s book first, and then I buy it and put it 
away in my bookshelf. When Mudie has no fresh 
dog story to recommend me I read the old ones, or, 
rather, my companion reads them aloud to me. Now, 
Dawson has become most unpleasant of late, and I 
have had one or two girls in as companions, and they 
have absolutely laughed at the dogs. I have seen 
them doing it when they imagined my back was 
turned. My dear, I am a lonely, desolate woman, 
and the dogs do not get the attention they require. 
Should one of my treasures be snatched from me, 
I should — yes. Miss Chevening, it would be the death 
of me ; I should die. After tea your time is generally 
occupied in needlework for the dogs.” 

“ Needlework for the dogs ? I dcm't quite under- 
stand,” said Hero. 

“ You will when you come here. I have an 
Italian greyhound, and he requires a new dress each 
winter. Just at present, in the hot weather, he goes 
without. Then my dear little pug Chip has coats 
which he wears from October until the middle 
of May. Oh, yes, there is plenty to be done, and 
I like to study the fashion, and to find out what other 


The Six Dogs. 


171 

ladies do with their dogs ; and if there is an exhibition 
of dogs anywhere, you have of course to go and report 
to me. In short, your life is taken up looking after 
the comforts of my dear children, as I term them.” 

“ Well,” answered Hero, with a sigh, “ I never 
did know that Frisk was to be returned to me in this 
wholesale manner, but of course I think I shall be 
able to manage. It cannot be very difficult, surely, 
to earn a pound a week by making you happy and 
looking after the dogs.” 

“If you think so, would you not try to come for 
fifteen shillings } ” 

“ Certainly not ; I want my pound a week, and 
you are not to give me a penny less.” 

“ Very well, I can see that you are a troublesome, 
determined sort of child ; but somehow I fancy you. 
Now then, please ring for Dawson, and the dogs 
shall come upstairs. It all depends, I may as well 
tell you frankly, on whether they take to you or not.” 

Hero walked across the room and rang the bell. 

“ How old are you, by the way, my love } ” asked 
the little old lady, as she watched her. 

“Very nearly sixteen,” answered Hero. 

“ Good heavens ! sixteen ! ” cried old Mrs. Jennings. 
“ I can’t even remember when I was sixteen — it must 
be very nice to be so infantilely young.” 

“ I expect each time of life has its trials,” said 
Hero somewhat tartly. “ I hope your servant Dawson 
will soon answer the bell, for I must be home, what- 
ever happens, before one o’clock to-day.” 

“ I perceive that you are a determined young woman. 
Ring the bell again loudly. Dawson often grumbles 
at coming up so many stairs ; it is ridiculous of her 
to complain, for she is only seventy years old. Now, 
I am over eighty, and have scarcely an ache. Ah, 
here she" comes. Dawson, I think I have at last 


172 Merry Girls of England. 

found a suitable young person to look after the dogs 
and myself. Will you please open the door down- 
stairs, and send the darlings up.” 

“ I wish you joy of the post, I am sure, miss,” 
said Dawson, looking full at Hero. “You had better 
stand a little away from the door, or the big dog 
Duke will knock you down.” 

Hero crossed the room, and sat down again on 
the little chair near Mrs. Jennings. 

Dawson stumbled downstairs. A door on the 
next landing but one was opened immediately- 
Afterwards there came a great clattering and rushing, 
the sound of swift four-footed beings rushing upstairs, 
then a confused mass of quadrupeds entered the 
room. 

They all made straight, not for Mrs. Jennings, 
but for Hero Chevening. There was a big dog of 
the collie species, with a coat considerably injured 
through much neglect and want of exercise. 

“ That is Duke, dear, dear Duke ; come to me, 
Duke,” said Mrs. Jennings. 

Duke did not take the least notice of his mistress 
— he was busily employed sniffing Hero all over ; 
finally, he began to leap up and to lick her face. 

“ Down, Duke ; behave yourself ! ” said the young 
girl, in a firm voice. 

The dog gazed at her in astonishment, and 
dropped his paws. 

“And this is Chip,” said Mrs. Jennings, who was 
standing up in her excitement. “ What do you 
think of my sweet little Chip — is not he a perfect 
pug ? And this is my little Pet, the greyhound for 
whom you are to make the coat when the cold 
weather comes.” 

“ I much prefer Duke,” said Hero. “ Oh, and this 
is a nice little Scotch terrier ! ” she continued, as a 



“THEY ALL MADE FOR HERO ” (/• 172)- 


■ I 


( • 




* 


S ' 




f . ' 
*■ T 1 




,-, ■•• ■; i 

p 




r 




/ 


«» * 




I 


I 



I 


I 




I 


V 



t 





‘ i 
« 


< 


0 


I 




I 


* 


\ 


♦ 


4 




¥ 




I 


« 




» 


« 



« 



0 

.1 


< 



% : 


t 

« 




> ( 


. • ^ 


k: 


C 


k 


k. 


♦ * j 


« 


f 


Temptation. 173 

little black dog with a very big head, pointed ears, 
and crooked legs waddled up to her side. 

“ I should think you did love that darling — his 
name is Bounce — he came straight from the High- 
lands. Bounce, what do you think of your new 
friend ? My dear, I must not say ‘ mistress,’ for I 
am mistress. You and the dogs are friends — equals, 
in short.” 

“ Scarcely equals at present,” said Hero ; “ I am 
very much beneath the dogs, it seems to me.” 

“ Well, my love, I must frankly say that I do not 
think any human being comes up to the dog in 
intelligence and faithfulness.” 

A black Spitz puppy called Demon, and a fox ter- 
rier of the name of Jakes also made their appearance. 
The whole six surrounded Hero, sniffing at her dress, 
trying to worm their way to her ankles, examining her 
all round in a most thorough and searching manner. 
Finally, as she lowered one of her hands, the big 
dog Duke condescended to lick it. 

“ They have taken to you,” cried Mrs. Jennings, 
clapping her hands; “that settles the matter. You 
will be with me at nine o’clock sharp to-morrow 
morning.” 


CHAPTER XVII. 

TEMPTATION. 

Since Barbara Underhill had come to London she 
had found out a great many unpleasant truths. In 
the first place, her own appalling ignorance started 
up and stared her in the face. She discovered only 
too quickly that she knew nothing well ; she had, 
it is true, a slight smattering of many subjects, but 


174 Merry Girls of England. 

there was no one single thing which she could do 
better than anyone else. She was very painfully 
young, too. A girl does not often complain of her 
youth, but Barbara at sixteen earnestly wished that 
she was eighteen or nineteen. Her youth made her 
gauche^ and gauche girls have a hard time of it in 
this censorious world. She had no one, too, to advise 
her ; there was no friend older and wiser than herself 
to direct her little ambitions in any way. Were it 
not for Hero, she would have succumbed utterly. 
There was a very unexpected weight on her con- 
science, which made itself felt more day by day and 
hour by hour. Often she used to wake at night to 
find her pillow wetted by tears. At these times she 
longed passionately, beyond words to express, for 
Rosamond. She longed once more to feel Clementcy’s 
soft arms round her neck, to hear Ursula’s gentle 
purring voice saying soft nothings in her ears. She 
looked back at these times with envy to the bird’s- 
nest bedroom, to the refreshing, wholesome food, to 
the fresh air, the flowers, the fruit of the farm. She 
repented of having left her home so suddenly, but 
as yet she had no wish to return to the old life. 
There was still the hope of success — the hope of 
making the whole thing a grand triumph —which 
lured her forward like a will-o’-the-wisp. 

One of the first of Barbara's discoveries had been 
the very unpleasant fact that money in London, 
particularly when one is inexperienced, goes four 
times as fast as one expects it to go. Before she 
started for town, fifty pounds had seemed to her 
simply an inexhaustible sum ; but, when she had 
furnished the little flat and got a few necessary 
clothes for herself and Hero, and week by week had 
to supply the small amount of food which the two 
girls were obliged to eat, that fifty pounds dwindled 


Temptation, 


175 


and dwindled, until at last very little was left. 
On the day when Hero had gone secretly to see 
Lucy Tregunter, and when Barbara had started 
off for her daily visit to the British Museum, she 
knew that only two golden sovereigns out of the fifty 
which she had brought to London remained in her 
purse. 

“And when they are gone, what is to become 
of us ? ” she reflected. “ If I am forced to write to 
Mr. Johnson, I shall have, in the first place, to 
acquaint him with my address ; in the next, to let 
him know that I have more or less failed ; and, in 
the third place, I shall be obliged to draw some of 
the two hundred pounds, which is all the money I 
now possess in the world. No, I am determined not 
to write for any more money. Oh, if only I could 
succeed ! if only — if only ” 

Here her cheeks flamed with brilliant colour, and 
her large, beautiful eyes grew full of light, for poor, 
ambitious, ignorant little Barbara was busily engaged 
writing a book. She had always had a great taste 
for literature, and a certain facility for writing, but 
she knew very little of the subject over which 
she was now engaged. The ways of the literary 
world, too, were as a sealed volume to her ; it was, 
however, just her very ignorance which made her 
bold. She thought, when once her book was finished, 
that she would have courage to take it to a 
publisher ; that, perhaps, the publisher would be 
kind, perhaps he would recognise her latent talent, 
perhaps he would bring her book out, and, perhaps, 
oh, perhaps, that book might become the talk of the 
great London world. If so, all would be well. 

Day after day she went to her special desk 
in the reading-room of the British Museum, where 
she worked hard from morning till night. 


176 


Merry Girls of England. 


This morning she went as usual to her accustomed 
seat, she ordered her books of reference to be brought 
to her, and set to work. She was now nearing the 
end of the book. It was her wish, her determination, 
to make the end very striking, but think as she would 
no really important denouement had occurred to her. 
She thought this anxious matter over during many 
wakeful hours, she felt that all really depended upon 
the end. The beginning of her story was, according 
to her own ideas, simple and striking enough, and if 
she could invent a really important wind-up, it was 
quite possible that a publisher would accept the book 
and pay for it, and if so, her fortune would be made : 
the book would be reviewed, the book would sell, 
orders for work would come to her. She would be 
looked upon as one of the child prodigies of the day, 
the girl-author who had brought out her first book 
before she was seventeen. Barbara’s eyes actually 
blazed at the thought. 

“ If only this can come to pass,” she said to 
herself, “then what I have done will be well done. 
Then dear Rosamond will forgive me the pain I have 
caused her, and Ursula and Clementcy will once again 
consider me the best sister in the world. I shall 
spend all my life in trying to make up for the three 
months of misery I have caused them. Oh, I must 
finish the book worthily ; I must and I will I ” 

On this particular day she sat with her manuscript 
spread before her, her pen well dipped in the ink, one 
of her hands supporting her cheek, staring down at 
the empty page. 

She had got her heroine into the necessary 
dilemma, but how to get her out again was the 
puzzle. All the proper ingredients for the well- 
known girls’ novel she had collected together. Here, 
in shoi t, was her cake, that cake which was to make 


Tempt A tion. 


177 


her fortune, but where was the leaven which was to 
harmonise the whole ? If only she could strengthen 
her leading idea, if only she could make her climax 
strong and worthy of herself ! 

Barbara, who was rather shy when she first 
went to the Museum, had chosen her place amongst 
those desks which are devoted to ladies only. 
For the last few weeks a little woman, with grey 
hair, a high forehead, and large, dreamy eyes, had 
sat next to her. The little woman had come day 
after day, and employed her time looking up books 
of reference, taking down copious notes, and finally 
writing something in a neat hand on many sheets 
of paper. She must have been over fifty years of 
age ; her face was strong and somewhat nervous, she 
had large hands, she worked very hard. Now and 
then her big eyes used to look at Barbara as if she 
did not see her, as if she were looking through her at 
something else. Barbara used to resent these glances, 
and yet she used to watch the little lady in grey with 
a sort of fascinated interest. Her work excited her 
curiosity, she wondered what she could possibly be 
doing in the original line. 

Just before lunch time on this special day, the 
little lady, in stretching across her hand to secure 
a fresh piece of paper, suddenly dropped a pile of 
writing on the floor. Barbara stooped to pick it 
up, and handed it back to her. The lady said 
** Thank you,” in a hasty manner, but as a friend 
came up at that moment to speak to her she did 
not say any more to Barbara. They stood at a little 
distance talking together in a semi-whisper. 

Barbara returned more disconsolately than 
ever to her own work. Suddenly she looked 
up with a sigh of relief — the great clock struck 
one. She resolved that she would not go 
h 


lyS Merry Girls of England. 

home to dinner ; it did not matter whether she 
disappointed Hero or not. She would go off to 
the refreshment buffet, have a cup of coffee and a 
roll, and then return to her work. She was more 
and more determined that, come what would, this 
day should not turn out a failure. She half rose 
to leave her desk, when turning round she perceived 
that the lady who used to sit at her left hand had 
vanished, her pile of papers lay close to Barbara in 
hopeless confusion. Without meaning to do so, Bar- 
bara’s eager eyes lighted upon a certain sentence. 
Before she was aware of the fact she had read the whole 
of one page of manuscript. Then she started, coloured 
violently, and sprang to her feet. She felt guilty 
and uncomfortable. Without intending to do so, she 
had possessed herself of the little woman’s secret. 
She also was writing a novel. In strong, pungent 
phrases she was going to give forth to the world 
some original ideas. Without intending it, Barbara 
had obtained just the denouement she wanted for her 
own book. Of course she ought not to use it, it was 
not hers, it belonged to the little lady. 

She shut up her own manuscript pages, put a 
book over them to keep them in their place, and 
hurried off to the refreshment buffet. There she 
drank her coffee and had a roll, scarcely conscious of 
the taste of the food, her one anxiety being to hurry 
back to her own work ; her fingers tingled, her head 
ached, her eyes shone. 

Barbara was absent from her desk half an hour. 
She sat down again, and again tried to write. 

Of course I have not an idea of using that 
thought,” she said to herself. “ I must not think of 
such a thing, but would it not fit just perfectly } Oh, 
if I could only twist it round and make it my own, 
and use it in such a way that she would never 


Temptation. 


179 


recognise it. Perhaps, too, her book will never come 
out ; perhaps she is quite a nobody, she is old, she 
has nearly lived her life, and I — oh, it is so important 
for me to succeed. Oh dear, that thought is exactly 
what I want, it would simply make my book. I 
wish now I had not read that page of manuscript, 
the thought she has expressed — she expressed it 
very well, too — it quite haunts me, I can think of 
nothing else.” 

Barbara suddenly found that she could do no 
more writing that day. She sighed, pressed her 
hand to her forehead, collected her manuscript, 
slipped it into her portfolio, and went home to the 
little flat. In the flat she found Hero, her eyes 
shining, her cheeks bright, anxiously waiting for her. 

“Dear me, Barbara,” she exclaimed, “what have 
you been doing to yourself I had such a nice 
dinner ready for you, why did you not come home 
to eat it } ” 

“ I was very busy, and had lunch at the refresh- 
ment buffet,” said Barbara. 

“ What a pity ! ” 

“Well, Hero, don’t grumble. If you really knew 
what hard work meant ” 

“ Well, I expect I shall in future,” answered Hero. 
“Barbara, do sit down, and don’t look so cross. I 
have got real news for you at last, great news.” 

“ News ! ” said Barbara, turning pale. “ Have you 
heard from Rosamond ? ” 

“ Of course not. How can I hear from poor Rose 
when she does not know our address ? By the way, 
have you written to her yet ? ” 

“Not yet; my head ached so badly last night I 
could not write ; it is beginning to ache again now.” 

“You, poor dear, you have been overworking 
yourself as usual,” said Hero. 

L 2 


i8o Merry Girls of England. 

Oh, I don’t know, Hero, I must work, the money 
is getting so low.” 

“ Tell me all about the money,” said Hero in a 
very tender, sympathetic voice. 

“ I am afraid I must, although I did not want to 
worry you. We have exactly two unbroken sove- 
reigns left.” 

“Two whole sovereigns ! I was afraid you were 
going to say two shillings. Oh, then we shall manage 
splendidly ; Babs, you must congratulate me.” 

“ What about ? ” answered Barbara impatiently. 
“ I don’t feel in the mood to congratulate anyone just 
now.” 

“ Well, rouse yourself for the occasion ; I have 
got a situation.” 

“ A situation ! Hero, what do you mean } ” 

“ A real, bond fide situation. What do you think 
I have got to do } ” 

“ I cannot possibly guess.” 

“ Poor Babs, you do look seedy. Well, my dear, 
I will tell you. To-morrow morning I am going 
to take care of a dear old lady. Her name is Mrs. 
Jennings. I like her very much, and I think she 
likes me. I have got to look after her all day 
long, and also to look after her six dogs.” 

“ My dear, you must be joking.” 

“ No, darling, I am speaking the words of sober 
truth ; I am to be the caretaker of the old lady 
and her dogs. Picture me morning by morning, 
Mrs. Jennings leaning on my arm, six dogs in leashes 
at my other side. Shall I describe the dear creatures 
to you ? First of all, there comes a collie — a great, 
big, unkempt creature — but with such melting eyes, 
and such a rough coat. His name is Duke. Then 
there is a pug with a very curly tail, and a very 
short nose called Chip. He is to have a jacket 


Temptation. i 8 i 

in the winter cut fashionably. I am to make it 
for him before the cold weather sets in. Next on 
the list comes a little Scotch terrier with a big 
head and crooked legs. His name is Bounce. 
Then a disagreeable little Italian greyhound. Oh ! 
by the way, he is also to wear a dress in the 
winter. His name is Pet. Then a black Spitz 
puppy called Demon, and a fox terrier — a great 
beauty — Jakes. Now, Barbara, please let me say 
the names over again to you, for I must have them 
at my finger-tips to-morrow morning — Duke, Chip^ 
Bounce, Pet, Demon, Jakes. Don’t you think I am 
a lucky girl } ” 

“ I think you must have taken leave of your 
senses,” answered Barbara. “ How could you possibly 
undertake anything so utterly ridiculous? You to 
go about with an old lady and six dogs in leashes ? ” 

“ Yes ; that will be my delightful duty in the 
future. I shall have to prepare your meals over night, 
for I must be absent all day. I am to be with 
my dear little old lady at nine in the morning. 
She did not mention at what hour I was to leave 
Ber, but I presume it will be rather late.” 

But how did you hear of this extraordinary 
woman ? ” said Barbara. 

Well, you know, Barbara,” answered Hero, 
^‘you have always grumbled at Lucy Tregunter, 
but I have never thought her half a bad sort. I 
am a girl full of theories, and my theory is that 
Lucy has got a character of her own, and that 
she simply lives up to it. She will help you if 
you take her in the right way. Now I consulted 
her a short time ago and said it was necessary, really 
necessary for me to earn money, and she suddenly 
remembered Mrs. Jennings, and sent me to her this 
morning with a letter of introduction. Well, 1 saw 


1 82 Merry Girls of England. 

the dear old lady — she is over eighty years of age, 
and keeps a servant, who is seventy. She has 
six dogs, and lives in a very big house, the greater 
part of which is shut up. What with looking after 
her and her dogs, I shall be busy enough.” 

“Oh, Hero, how will you be able to stand the 
life.?” 

“Wait a moment, I have something more to tell 
you, I am not going to do all this for nothing. 
What salary do you think I shall receive ? ” 

“ Salary ! ” answered Barbara, raising her eyes 
and looking wearily at her friend, “I am sure I 
cannot guess.” 

“Well then, you may open your eyes a bit wider, 
for it is something stupendous. A whole pound a 
week ! Quite sufficient to support two humble little 
beings like you and me, more particularly as I 
shall get almost all my meals with Mrs. Jennings.” 

“ Hero, a pound a week ! You don’t mean it ? ” 

“ I do, my love. I am to receive a whole solid 
pound sterling per week. Just think of it! After 
all, I do think my mission in life is to look after 
dogs, and the whole six took to me wonderfully 
this morning.” 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

YIELDING. 

After talking a little longer with Hero, Barbara 
went away into her own bedroom, locked the door, 
and spread her pile of manuscript before her. Hero’s 
news had slightly cheered her, her headache was 
better. It was now possible to live ; she need not 
write to Mr. Johnson for more money, and it might 


Yielding. 183 

be better to keep Rosamond in the dark with regard 
to her whereabouts for another fortnight. 

“ Long before then the book will be finished and 
success may be mine,” thought the young girl to 
herself. 

In unrolling her papers now, Barbara, to her 
great astonishment, perceived that there was one 
page amongst the others written in a different hand- 
writing. She started, and looked at it eagerly. 

“ What have I done ” she exclaimed, half aloud. 
‘‘ I have absolutely, without the least intending it, 
taken away a page of the lady’s manuscript. Poor 
thing ! what a state she will be in. How did it get 
mixed up with mine? I can only suppose that at 
the time when the manuscript was knocked over 
this page was pushed on to my table. It is extra- 
ordinary. I am sorry. Shall I go back to the 
Museum, and return it to her ? But no, there will 
be no use in that, for she never goes in the afternoon. 
I will take it back to-morrow morning.” 

Barbara put the page carefully on one side, and 
dipping her pen in the ink went on with her story. 

She wrote slowly. There were times when her 
ideas seemed to flow, but there were many times again 
when they undoubtedly dragged. This was one of 
the days when they dragged. She was approaching 
the crucial part of her book — the crisis — the imminent 
crisis was on her, and she had no crisis to describe. 
As she thought, and puzzled, and struggled with 
her subject, once more there swept over her memory 
the remembrance of the page she had read of the 
little lady’s story. There, indeed, was a striking 
denouement^ an effective situation. The terse, well- 
chosen sentences, the ideas so fresh, so invigorating, 
so daring, seemed to be stereotpyed on Barbara’s 
brain. She could think of nothing else. The 


i 84 Merry Girls of England, 

strange, inexplicable thing too was that the thoughts 
which the lady had used fitted Barbara’s own story, 
just as admirably as if she had worked them out 
herself from the first. 

“ Oh ! if I could but use those thoughts,” she 
groaned. “ Oh, why was this terrible temptation 
sent to me } Have I not heard it said over and 
over again that ideas float in the air, that if one 
person gets a new idea, another person is almost 
certain to be ' inspired by it . at the same time. 
Suppose I use that great thought ; suppose I partly 
use it. Suppose I work up my own story in some- 
thing the same way. Would she know.? Is she 
ever likely to know ? ” 

Then Barbara sprang from her desk and began to 
walk up and down the little room. 

“ What a mean, horrid girl I am ! ” she said to 
herself in angry tones. “When I left the farm, 
and Rosamond, and Ursula, and Clementcy, did I 
ever think I should come to this ? Oh, dear, why 
did I read that page of manuscript .? Why did I 
bring away another page with me? Well, at least, I 
vow and declare I won’t read that. I must give it 
back to the lady in the morning, and apologise, oh 
so humbly. But what shall I do to finish my own 
story ? What shall I do ? ” 

The girls lived at the very top of the house, 
and the noise from the street below floated up, 
rendered soft and harmonious by the distance. 
Presently Barbara put her head out of her 
window and peeped out. How far down the street 
looked ! How small and insignificant the people 
seemed as they hurried to and fro ! But oh ! how 
hot the air was ; how she longed and pined for a 
breath of the country freshness ! Why did her head 
begin to ache again so badly ? Oh ! she knew the 


Yielding. 


185 

reason well ; her story would not proceed ; that 
dreadful plot would not unfold itself. She dug her 
hands angrily into her hair. 

“I am determined to finish chat story to-day,” 
she cried. 

She sat down again before her desk. 

“ But I will not be mean,” she continued, “ I will 
not use what does not belong to me ; I will finish 
the story in my own way, I will, I will.” 

But she had scarcely uttered that last vigorous 
“ I will,” before her eyes fell upon the page of 
manuscript which she had taken from the lady 
who was her next-door neighbour at the Museum. 
As if fascinated, as if some power outside herself 
was impelling her, she began to read. The very 
first sentence arrested her attention. She found, 
partly to her consternation, partly with a sort of 
wild delight, that the page she was now reading 
was a continuation of the page which she had in- 
advertently read at the Museum. It contained a 
further development of the striking plot, which gave 
Barbara the last necessary clue. 

Before she knew well what she was doing her pen 
began to move, bright spots grew on her cheeks, 
her eyes danced, her story proceeded, it went well. 

“ I am scarcely using the plot,” she said to her- 
self. “ The lady just gave me the hint. I am working 
on certain lines, but they are my own, oh yes, they 
are my own. I am not indebted to her. I would 
not take a word of hers, not for the world. It is 

only, only ” She did not dare to finish the 

sentence, even to herself. 

Presently Hero burst open the door ; she looked 
fresh and bright. 

“ Babs,” she said, “ I cannot permit this for 
another moment Tea is ready, and afterwards 


1 86 Merry Girls of England. 

you are to come for a walk. You will kill your- 
self if you work like this.” 

“I have just done,” said Barbara. She finished 
the last word on her sheet with a blot. Her fingers 
were shaking, the glow of delight was still on her 
cheeks, the sparkle was still in her big eyes. 

She hurriedly thrust all her writing materials 
into her desk, poured out some cold water, bathed 
her face and hands, brushed her hair, and then 
entered the tiny sitting-room. 

“ Hero,” she said, “ congratulate me.” 

“ What about, Barbara } Oh ! you really look 
well. What has happened ? Have you good 
news?” 

“ I have very good news — very good. I have 
finished my book.” 

“Your book? Do you mean to say you have 
written a book ? ” 

“ Yes. I should like to read some of it to you. 
Would you care to listen ?” 

“ Care to listen, Barbara ? What do you take 
me for ? Oh, Barbara, you are a genius ! Let us 
go up to the leads after tea ; you can begin the 
story to me there.” 

The girls sat down before their little table. Bar- 
bara now ate heartily. A load seemed to be lifted from 
her mind. She quite forgot the little lady in grey. 
Her book was finished, and she had forced herself 
to consider the work entirely her own. 

Hero began to talk of her duties on the following 
morning, and Barbara entered into the subject with 
spirit. 

“ I shall not be anxious about money matters 
now,” she said. “ Hero, you really are a great help 
to me. I am going to offer my book to a publisher, 
and if he accepts it, of course, we shall have money, 


Yielding. 187 

and then, between my earnings and yours, we shall 
get along finely.” 

“ Oh yes, splendidly,” answered Hero. 

“ I feel that the worst is over,” continued Barbara, 
“ now that the book is finished.” 

I guessed you were writing it, of course,” said 
Hero, “ but I was too proud to ask you as you would 
not tell me. I expect it will be a splendid book. 
Of course, I always knew you were clever, Barbara. 
I am delighted, I am proud of you. I wonder 
what Lucy Tregunter will say when all the world 
is talking of your book } ” 

“ All the world won’t talk of it,” said Barbara ; 
but at the same time she smiled, and her dark eyes 
looked brighter and happier than ever. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

PAGE FORTY-EIGHT. 

The next day Hero hurried off at an early hour to 
Mrs. Jennings* house in Eaton Square, and Barbara 
went as usual to the British Museum. She had 
slept soundly the night before, and was still in 
excellent spirits. She carried her precious manu- 
script in a roll under her arm. It was finished 
at last ; the thought of the finished book filled 
her with joy. As yet, there were no prickings 
of conscience. She scarcely realised that she had 
robbed another of a very precious possession. She 
expected to be busy to-day, as she meant to 
look through page after page of the finished book. 
She was going to search up all her references, to 
verify all her facts. She was a daring girl, and she 


1 88 Merry Girls of England. 

had introduced into her pages a very neat little 
scientific theory, and this required careful elabora- 
tion. People should not attribute youthful mistakes 
to the book; if possible, people should be puzzled 
over the sex of the author. Yes, Barbara felt, now 
the conclusion was so strong and emphatic, that the 
book would be sufficiently remarkable to arrest atten- 
tion. On its fate it seemed to her that her whole 
future life hung. Before she left her rooms that 
morning her eyes had fallen on the page of manu- 
script which belonged to the little lady. Her first 
intention was to roll it up in order to take it back 
to her; but on second thoughts she determined 
to burn it. 

The lady must never know that it had passed 
through her hands. 

No sooner had the idea come to her than she 
acted on it ; she crumpled up the piece of paper, and 
thrust it into the stove. 

When she seated herself at her accustomed desk, 
the first person she saw was the little lady. She 
was bending forward, busily writing. When she 
saw Barbara she made a gentle inclination of her 
head, and then, sweeping aside her skirt to make 
room for the young girl, turned and addressed her. 

“ You will forgive me ? ” she said. 

“ Certainly,” replied Barbara. 

“You picked up some sheets of manuscript for 
me yesterday.” 

“ I remember,” replied Barbara. 

“ Well it is very tiresome ; but I cannot find page 
forty-eight. Now it happened to be rather an im- 
portant page of the work over which I am engaged. 
You did not by any chance see it? ” 

“ Page forty-eight ! ” said Barbara ; “ have you 
really lost it ? ” 


Page Forty-Eight. 


189 


“Yes, you are quite sure you did not see it?” 

“Quite sure,” answered Barbara. She did not 
get red, but white — chalky white. She had never 
before told a deliberate lie. 

The little lady did not say anything further ; with 
a very faint sigh she resumed her work. Barbara 
bent over her own work. 

“ Now, if I am weak and stupid, I shall begin to 
feel remorse,” she said to herself. “ I dare not do 
that — my book is finished. Yes, the lady^s thought 
did help me ; but it only helped me ; the words are 
mine. Perhaps that little woman will never be able 
to have her book published. She looks an insignifi- 
cant person.” 

She glanced again at her neighbour. 

“ At the worst, she will easily be able to make a 
second copy of page forty-eight,” murmured Barbara 
to herself. “ Yes, it was horrid to have to tell that 
lie ; but there was no help for it.” 

At this moment one of the clerks of the Reading 
Room came up to Barbara, and told her that the 
Superintendent would be glad to speak to her. 

Mr. Mason had already taken a good deal of 
trouble for Barbara. She left her place, and went 
eagerly to the centre desk. He bent forward, and 
began to talk in an interested tone. 

“ You have not come for my help for some days,” 
he said ; “ how is your story getting on ? ” 

“ It is finished,” answered the young girl ; “ I 
finished it last night.” 

“ I am glad of that ; let me congratulate you. 
Now that it is finished, what do you intend to do 
with it ? ” 

“To publish it if I can.” Then Barbara raised 
her eyes ; “ what do you advise ? ” she asked. 

Mr. Mason was silent. He had taken an interest 


190 Merry Girls of England. 

in Barbara from the first. She was so young, so 
naive; her face also was so full of intelligence ; there 
was such a downright, determined air about her that 
she had awakened his enthusiasm. He was the 
kindest of men, and had helped more than one young 
author to take his or her first step up the thorny 
ladder of literature. 

“ I will do what I do not do for many,” he said, 
after a pause ; “ I will look over your manuscript 
myself. Bring it to me at once, for I have an hour 
or two at my disposal. My advice to you is, if 
possible, to run the story through a Magazine ; you 
will earn far more money in that way than you are 
likely to make for many a long day with a book. 
Your story will be read by all the readers of the 
Magazine ; and in that way your name will begin 
to get circulated. Of course, it is only fair to tell 
you, that as you are very young and inexperienced, 
the chances are that your manuscript may not be 
worth a great deal. That does not mean that you 
will not write some day, but it means that your first 
effort may not succeed. I will tell you, however, 
what I will do ; I will read what you have written, 
and if I find it fairly satisfactory, I will give you an 
introduction to a friend of mine, who is about to 
start a new Monthly. He intends to use the most 
original contributions he can get. What he princi- 
pally wants is talent, originality. Now bring me the 
manuscript at once. I can give you my opinion 
to-morrow.” 

“Shall I alter it first.?” said Barbara. “I was 
correcting it when you sent for me.” 

“ No, let me see it just as it is ; I am not going to 
read every word of it. I will just take in the main idea.” 

Barbara ran off to her desk. She gathered up her 
manuscript, and brought it back to Mr. Mason. 


Page Forty-Eight. 


191 

“Come to me to-morrow at this hour for my 
opinion,” he said. 

Soon afterwards the clock struck one, and Barbara 
Underhill with several other ladies went into the 
refreshment buffet. She had just been helped to ? 
cup of coffee, and was attacking her roll with appetite, 
when she heard a voice speaking close to her. She 
raised her head with a start, and saw that her friend 
of the Reading Room had secured a seat at the same 
table. 

“ I am interested in you,” said the grey lady in 
her clear voice. “You are very young to write. 
Forgive me if I ask you a question — are you writing 
for publication ” 

“ I am trying to,” replied Barbara. 

“You are such a child,” said the lady. 

“ I am not so young as I look,” answered Barbara, 
with some asperity. “ I shall be seventeen my next 
birthday.” 

The little lady smiled ; her dreamy eyes seemed 
to wake up and to look full into Barbara’s. 

“My dear,” she said then, “seventeen is very 
young. I, who am over fifty, think your present age 
quite that of a child. I admire your pluck, however, 
and I earnestly hope that you will succeed. I saw 
you talking to Mr. Mason — if anyone can help you, 

he can. I also ” Here she hesitated, and even 

slightly coloured. 

“ She of all people must not help me,” thought 
Barbara to herself. “No, I cannot stand that ; I 
draw the line at that.” 

The little lady had been gazing at her very in- 
tently ; a sudden sense of embarrassment seized 
Barbara — she spoke impulsively, plunging into the 
last words she would have said in cooler moments. 

“I hope you will find page forty-eight,” she said. 


192 Merry Girls of England. 

“ I hope you can remember what you said on that 
page.” 

The lady raised her eyebrows in slight surprise, 
and, after another pause, spoke with dignity. 

“Thank you,” she replied, “I have re-written 
the page already; the loss did not matter in the 
least.” 

A gentleman came up at that moment to speak 
to her, and she did not address Barbara again. 

Barbara left the Museum as soon as she had 
swallowed her coffee. 

The next day at an early hour Mr. Mason sent to 
speak to her. 

“I have read your story,” he said, putting the 
manuscript back into her hands. “ I have read it 
from ’ the first page to the last. It is full of faults, 
the faults which all young writers must necessarily 
commit. The earlier portion is in no way above the 
average writing of a clever girl, but the end, Miss 
Underhill, the end atones for all ; the end surprises 
me very much — it is thoughtful, beyond your years. 
If you go on as you have begun, you will do well. 
Some day you will even be a great writer. I am 
giving you with great pleasure a note to my special 
friend, Mr. Parkinson. Parkinson, the publisher, is 
one of the best friends to really clever young writers 
in the whole of London. Take this manuscript with 
my note to him — he will at least read what you have 
written after he has received the note.” 

“I do not know how- to thank you,” answered 
Barbara. Her face was white — there was a queer, 
excited beating at her heart. She earnestly wished 
that Mr. Mason had praised the early part of the 
manuscript. 

He held out his hand to her. 

“ Go at once,” he said, “ you have no time to lose. 


193 


Jefferson's Mistake. 

Parkinson is bringing out a new Monthly, and your 
story may suit him.” 

She left the great Reading Room without glancing 
at anyone, a queer triumphant glow in her eyes, her 
cheeks on fire. 

Oh, surely success, the great success which she 
had achieved, was worth the little deceit, the lie, the 
robbing of another of a noble thought. 


CHAPTER XX. 

JEFFERSON’S MISTAKE. 

Mr. Parkinson’s office was in Cheapside. By this 
time Barbara knew her way about the principal 
thoroughfares of London. As soon as ever she left 
the Museum she walked quickly down Museum 
Street, hailed an omnibus, and asked the man to put 
her down at the number which Mr. Mason had in- 
dicated on his letter of introduction. Then she sat 
back against the well-worn velvet cushions, and tried 
to control the over-anxious beating of her heart. 

Her thoughts were in a whirl, she could not con- 
centrate them on any one thing. She felt dazzled, 
excited ; she was exercising a great grip over herself, 
for she was determined at all costs to keep remorse 
at bay. 

The drive was a short one, and presently the 
conductor pulled up the omnibus and pointed out to 
her Mr. Parkinson’s address at the opposite side of 
the street. She soon crossed the busy thoroughfare, 
and looked at the names on the brass plate at the 
door. Mr. Parkinson’s editorial offices occupied the 

n 


194 Merry Girl's of England. 

whole of the second floor. Barbara went up and up 
the brass-bound stairs — it seemed to her as if she 
could never reach the top. At last, slightly out of 
breath, she paused — she saw the name of the publisher 
in aggressive white paint on a door. There was a 
knocker to the door and a bell at one side. She 
pressed the bell and raised the knocker. After a 
moment’s delay a sandy-haired, impertinent-looking 
boy stood before her. 

“Yes, miss? ” he said staring at Barbara from top 
to toe. Her dress which only reached a little below 
iher ankles, her shabby black hat, her flushed cheeks, 
the roll of manuscript under her arm, all told this 
experienced boy a tale. 

“ I know her sort,” he murmured under his breath. 
“ She is one of them silly young persons who bring 
manuscripts that nobody wants to read.” 

“Yes, miss?” he said again, and his tone was a 
little more aggressive than when he first spoke. 

“ Is Mr. Parkinson in ? ” asked Barbara. 

“In, miss? Yes, but particular engaged. He 
don’t see no one except by appointment.” 

Barbara looked disappointed for the space of a 
moment, then she said abruptly — 

“ I have a letter of introduction for Mr. Parkinson. 
Will you please take it to him, and ask him when he 
can see me ? ” 

The boy stared at the writing on the envelope 
which Barbara gave him, gazed back again at her very 
intently, stuck his tongue in his cheek, and turned on 
his heel. When he was half-way across the room he 
turned back and spoke to Barbara. 

“You can take a chair if you like,” he said. He 
then vanished into the inner sanctum of the office. 
He was away for a couple of minutes. When he 
came back his tone was more respectful 


Jefferson's Mistake. 195 

‘*Mr. Parkinson will see you if you wait for a little 
time,” he said. 

“Yes, I will wait,” replied Barbara. She seated 
herself now quite comfortably and firmly on her 
chair. She felt that she had won a victory over the 
impertinent office-boy, and nothing else just then 
seemed of moment. 

She had to wait for about a quarter of an hour ; 
then a red-haired, burly-looking man came out. He 
rushed out of the inner room, thrusting his hand 
through his hair as he did so. He said something 
to the boy, seized his hat, and ran downstairs. 

“ He is a great gun, he is,” said the boy nodding at 
Barbara as he spoke. 

“ Who is ? ” asked Barbara. 

“Why, that gent that has just gone out; he is 
Mr. ” 

Before he could say the word a whistle sounded 
within. The boy thrust his tongue into his cheek 
and vanished, but soon came back and nodded to 
Barbara. 

“Follow me this way, please, miss,” he said. ^ ^ 

The next instant Barbara found herself in the 
Editor’s room. It was a large room comfortably fur- 
nished. There were Venetian blinds to the windows, 
which were down at present, for the afternoon sun was 
pouring into the room. A dark-haired, thin-faced man, 
with large luminous eyes and particularly intelligent 
face, partly rose when he saw her. 

Barbara came timidly forward. He held out his 
hand. 

“You are Miss Underhill, I understand,” he said. 
“ I have just read Mr. Mason’s note : will you seat 
yourself there, please ” 

Barbara did so. She was trembling a good deal. 
The crucial moment had indeed arrived. 


M 2 


196 Merry Girls of England. 

Mr. Parkinson, after first favouring her with a long 
and penetrating glance, once again read the letter 
which Mr. Mason had written to him. 

“ Mason praises your work,” he said. “ He tells 
me that it has extraordinary merits ; but surely you 
are little better than a child ? ” 

“ I am not a child,” answered Barbara in some 
impatience ; “ I am sixteen years old. Some girls are 
not childish at sixteen,” she added. 

Mr. Parkinson allowed himself to indulge in the 
ghost of a smile. 

“ You look a child,” he said, “ and I am glad of it. 
It is a great pity to lose our childhood over-soon — we 
never get it back again. Have your brought your 
manuscript with you ? ” 

“ Yes, sir; here it is,” said Barbara. She laid the 
precious roll on the large office table. Mr. Parkinson 
took it in his hand, untied the string, and glanced for 
a moment at the title-page. “ I think your name has 
been used before,” he said, “ but that matter can be 
easily altered. How many words does this manu- 
script contain .? ” 

“ I don’t know, sir ; I have not counted them,” said 
Barbara. 

Mr. Parkinson glanced an experienced eye over 
the closely written pages. 

‘‘There are, I should say, about forty thousand 
words here,” he said after a pause ; “ quite too short for 
an ordinary book, as you are doubtless aware. Still 
it might be brought out at two-and-six, or it might 
run — that is, if it is sufficiently good — through a few 
numbers of a magazine. I am about to bring out a 
magazine on quite new lines next November. Your 
manuscript, if it is original, and my friend gives me to 
understand that it is, may possibly suit my purpose, 
but it must have originality, daring and strength. It 


197 


Jefferson's Mistake. 

is scarcely likely that one so yo — ” he again glanced 
at Barbara, and a puzzled expression came between his 
brows ; “ it is extremely doubtful, notwithstanding my 
friend’s praise, that this story will suit me,” he said. 
“ I will, however, promise to read it through carefully. 
Will you call again this day week ? ” 

“ Thank you,” answered Barbara — she rose tremb- 
lingly ; her knees shook under her. 

Mr. Parkinson also rose from his seat. 

“ Don’t work too hard,” he said ; “ and don’t forget 
that you are quite a child, even though you are 
sixteen years of age.” 

She left him, feeling crushed. 

“ How formidable everything is when you come 
close to it,” she reflected — “how am I to compete 
with grown men and women, men and women who 
really know life .? That awful editor seemed to take 
the last ghost of hope out of me. How am I to 
endure the suspense until this day week ! ” 

She went home, but could not settle to anything. 
She missed Hero, whose bright face and cheerful 
words had always given her a certain amount of 
courage. Her thoughts would revert to her sisters 
She longed to see them again ; they became more 
precious to her, now that they were absent. The 
Gables did not seem an uninteresting place now that 
she no longer dwelt there. She even turned with 
thoughts of affection to her little bird’s-nest bedroom. 
She paced up and down the tiny flat. She had to wait a 
whole week, and at the end of the week, failure might 
be hers ; if so, how was she to endure it ! 

But the present suspense was the hardest of all 
to endure. She had now nothing special to do ; the 
little flat, as far as it went, was in perfect order. 
Hero was away. She could not settle to any fresh 
work at the British Museum ; there was therefore no 


1 98 Merry Girls of England. 

special occasion for her to go there — besides, in spite 
of all her resolutions, she dreaded the little lady in grey. 

Presently she went out and took a long walk. 
When she came back Hero had returned. She was 
bright and lively but also tired, and said she would 
be glad to go to bed. 

“It is the dogs,” she said to Barbara. “The dogs 
do jump so about me ; and of course there is a great 
deal of physical exercise required in brushing them 
and taking them out and looking after Mrs. Jennings, 
Mrs. Jennings is quite.a dear old soul ; I shall get im- 
mensely fond of her presently. Barbara, I am so 
sleepy ; do you greatly mind, dear, if I go to bed } ” 

Barbara said she did not mind. She went to bed 
herself, but she could not sleep. 

This was only the first day of the week ; how 
would all the others pass ! Suspense seemed to weigh 
upon her. Her head ached as badly as if she were 
working hard. 

At last one morning, just before the week was up, 
Hero danced into her friend’s room with a letter. 

“ For you,” she said ; “ and it bears a City address — 
Parkinson & Co., no, Cheapside.” 

Barbara’s face turned white ; she held out her hand 
for the letter, tore open the envelope, and read the 
contents. They were very brief, and were written in 
type-writing. 

“ Dear Madam, — If you will have the goodness to 
call here to-morrow between eleven and twelve 
o’clock, I should like to speak to you about your new 
story, ‘A Swift Vengeance.’ — Yours faithfully, 
“Arthur Parkinson.” 

“ How white you look, Barbara,” said Hero. 
“Have you had bad news? Oh, surely that horrid 
publisher is not sending the manuscript back.” 


/mfferson's Mistake. 199 

“ He wants me to call ; I don’t quite know what 
it means,” said Barbara. 

“ Oh, if he wants you to call ; of course it means 
success,” answered Hero. “ Do show me what he has 
written. Oh, it is in that queer, printed writing. 
Yes, I see he wants you to go to him immediately; 
doubtless, the story is a great success. Now, Barbara, 
please sit down and drink off your cup of coffee. I 
must hurry off without breakfast, for Pet, the Italian 
greyhound, is not quite well. Babs, I expect to hear 
great things of you when I return to-night.” 

Hero left the room ; Barbara soon heard her 
flying nimbly downstairs. She wandered about the 
little flat, putting things in order, until it was time 
for her to start for Cheapside. She dressed herself 
in her best for her short journey. Someone had once 
told her that it was very important to propitiate 
publishers by looking as nice as possible. 

“If they think you poor, my dear,” this wise 
person had said, “ they treat you accordingly ; but, 
if they think you are well off, they are under the 
impression that your writing has succeeded, and, of 
course, after that they are anxious to give you 
orders.” 

Remembering this advice, Barbara now put on 
her neat black hat and best dress. Then locking 
the little hall door of the flat, she slipped the key in 
her pocket and ran downstairs. She reached Mr. 
Parkinson’s office sharp at eleven o’clock, and ran 
up the brass-bound stairs, her heart beating tumultu- 
ously. The red-haired boy once more opened the 
door for her. 

“ You have come back, miss ? ” he said, sur- 
veying her with his critical and not too friendly 
glance. 

“Yes, by appointment,” said Barbara, somewhat 


200 Merry Girls of England, 

proudly. She felt, whatever happened, she must get 
the better of that atrocious boy. 

“ Oh, indeed — walk in, please, miss,” answered 
the boy. 

He flung the door wide open, and allowed Barbara 
to pass. 

“Take this chair, please, miss ; and, now, will you 
have the goodness to fill up this form } ” 

Barbara wrote her name somewhat unwillingly on 
a printed slip. The boy withdrew with it into the 
adjacent room. He came back in a moment. 

“ This way, please. Miss Underhill,” he said. His 
tone was quite suave and intensely respectful. Barbara 
augured well by it. 

When she entered the room, Mr. Parkinson got 
up, came a step or two forward, and held out his 
hand to her. 

“ How do you do ? ” he said. “ Pray take that 
chair. I trpubled you to call because I am interested 
in what you sent me.” 

“ I am very glad you like it,” said Barbara. 

“Not so fast, please. Miss Underhill. It is one 
thing being interested in what one reads, and quite 
another thing to say that one likes it.” 

Barbara was silent; her tplour came and went; 
she clasped her hands tightly together. 

Mr. Parkinson favoured her with one of his Jceen, 
eagle glances ; then, opening a drawer, he took out 
her manuscript and laid it on a table before him. 

“ I have read the story,” he said. “It is very 
slight ; there is little or no plot.” 

“ Oh, I don’t go in for plots,” interrupted Barbara 
eagerly ; “ I prefer to devote myself to delineation 
of character.” 

“ Quite so ; and, in doing that, you adopt a higher 
style of writing — not thafT by any means despise thQ 


201 


/bffei^son's Mistake, 

story of incident. I should, if I were asked to give 
my personal advice, beg almost all young writers to 
study the story of incident. It requires years to 
pass over one’s head, as a rule, before one is able 
to describe character with any correctness. It is 
necessary to read life before one can talk of it, is it 
not?” he added, giving a keen, half-quizzical glance 
at Barbara’s girlish figure as she sat impatiently 
before him. 

“ I suppose so, sir,” she answered. 

“ Well, now, to come to the point,” said Mr. 
Parkinson. “ I have read your story from beginning 
to end. I presume you want it to be published ? ” 

“ Of course,” answered Barbara. 

“If you were my daughter, I should not allow 
you to bring anything out for some time. As you 
are not, however, I am bound to give you advice 
independently of your age. As a rule, I do not read 
the manuscripts of unknown writers, I glance at them. 
A glance is generally sufficient to tell me all their 
merits or demerits. The beginning of your story is 
ordinary ; it is, in fact, the work of any tolerably 
well-educated and tolerably smart girl. The end, 
however. Miss UnderhiH^-is remarkable. Where did 
you gebHhat idea of investing your hero with the 
strange miraculous power of touch, the healing by 
faith ? How did it come; to you ? ” 

Barbara coloured^ then her face went white. 

“ I must not pfry . into your secrets,” said Mr. 
Parkinson kindly, “but I must say that you have 
thought out in a very original way a little-worn 
conception. The idea is vigorous, and introduced so 
as to raise the story quite above the mediocre work 
of the ordinary writer. Now, then, to business — 
what do you want for this little manuscript?” 

“What are you prepared to give?” asked Barbara. 


202 Merry Girls of England. 

“Well, my first intention was to run it through 
my new monthly, T/ie Palm Branchy but the story 
as it is now written would be spoiled- if it were run 
serially ; the weakness of the beginning, too, would 
be painfully manifest, and I doubt whether people 
would weary themselves to go on to the end. My 
present idea is that you should rewrite most of the 
beginning, and let me have the story back when you 
have worked in your last idea, to a certain extent, 
into the first pages of your manuscript. Your hero 
can drop that rather silly love-making, and become 
impressed with the idea that he has got a special gift 
from Heaven, in the earlier part of the work — that 
will lead up to the final really remarkable end. With 
regard to terms, I cannot offer much for a first book, 
but I would give you twenty-five pounds for the 
copyright, if you care to accept so small a sum.” 

“ Twenty-five pounds ! ” said Barbara eagerly. 
“ Oh, I think that a great deal of money. I am 
greatly obliged to you, sir.” 

“You are a mere child to be an author,” said Mr. 
Parkinson kindly ; “ but, if you go on as well as you 
have begun, the world will hear of you yet. Now, 
pray, take your manuscript home, and look it over, 
with a view to carrying out the thought which I have 
just suggested.” 

“ I am sure I can manage what you wish,” said 
Barbara. 

“ Well, I’ll give you the manuscript.” 

Mr. Parkinson rang a bell as he spoke. The red- 
haired boy quickly appeared. 

“ Put this into a parcel at once, Jefferson,” said 
his chief. 

The boy gave Barbara a knowing grin, took up 
her story with a certain gingerliness of touch, and left 
the room. 


Jefferson's Mistake. 203 

“ Pray make your corrections as quickly as 
possible,” continued Mr. Parkinson, “ for I want the 
story to run through the press during the next 
few weeks. How soon can you make your correc- 
tions ? ” 

“In a couple of days,” said Barbara. “ Pll work 
at them day and night,” she answered. 

“ Well, that is your own affair, only don’t overdo 
it, for your health’s sake. This is Tuesday, can you 
let me have it back, say, on Monday ? ” 

“ Y es, sir, I am sure I can.” 

“ We will consider it settled, then. You will 
receive proofs almost immediately. I will pay you 
on the day of publication, and if the story proves 
successful you may look for fresh orders.” 

Mr. Parkinson stood up as. he spoke, and held 
out his hand. 

“ Sir, you are more than kind,” said Barbara. 

She found a strange difficulty in speaking. The 
rejoicing which she thought would have filled her 
heart was conspicuous by its absence. Nevertheless, 
of course, she was glad — she was really glad. Of 
course, this was a moment of unprecedented triumph. 
She had written her first book. Her first book was 
accepted by one of the leading publishers in London. 
The little thought which she had daringly made 
her own had enabled her to conquer. Oh yes, it 
was her own thought, the little woman in grey 
would never miss it. 

She left the editor’s office to be confronted by 
the red-haired boy. 

“ Here’s your manuscript, miss, and my regrets 
with it. I am truly sorry for you, miss.” 

“ For what, may I ask ? ” inquired Barbara. 

“Well, miss, it don’t go far to say, but the 
comfort for you is to know that there are lots of 


204 Merry Girls of England, 

others in the same box. Y ou’ll feel it for a bit, then 
you’ll get over it. Why, I have a sister — she ain’t 
as old as you — and she thought, bless her, that she 

could write. I said ” 

Jefferson, come here,” called out Mr. Parkinson’s 
voice from the next room. 

“ Before you go, allow me to say one thing,” said 
Barbara ; “ you are absolutely mistaken.” She felt, 
come what would, that she must not be humiliated in 
the eyes of that horrid office-boy. “ This story is 
going to be printed. I am taking it back to make 
certain corrections. You will be sending me proofs 
by-and-by.” 

“ Proofs, miss!” said Jefferson, raising his eyebrows. 
“ I beg your pardon a hundred thousand times. I 
am sure you must be wonderfully clever ; and you 
look it, if you’ll allow me to say so, miss, about the 
eyes. Pll encourage Lizzie when I go home to- 
night, and tell her youth’s no obstacle when there’s 
downright virgin talent.” 

The boy opened the door for Barbara with a low, 
sweeping bow which had even yet a tinge of mockery 
in it, and she found herself descending the stairs. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

LIKE FATHER — LIKE DAUGHTER. 

Meanwhile, matters were progressing in a thor- 
oughly satisfactory way at the farm. Rosamond was 
getting a grip of the business. She was by nature 
a very careful, matter-of-fact sort of girl. She had 
no high-flown ideas with regard to duty. To Rosa- 
mond the duty that lay nearest was always first, 


Like Father — like Daughter. 205 

consequently she had a good deal of courage, and 
was not afraid to make certain ventures. Ignorant 
as she had been at the beginning of her little under- 
taking with regard to the mere rudiments of farming, 
she was not four months at the Gables before she 
was quite a practical farmer in a small way. The 
two cows turned out a success. The fowls were 
laying eggs, and the young pullets were fattening 
rapidly for the market. The vegetable garden 
also was a source of profit. There were several fruit 
trees which were well laden with apples, pears and 
plums, and other autumn fruits. These Rosamond 
had all carefully picked. The plums were made into 
jam ; the apples stored away in an old barn swept 
dry and clean for the purpose ; the pears were sold 
at Charlton along with the fresh butter, and the nice 
new-laid eggs. Not having to pay any rent for the 
farm was, of course, a great pull, and, in short, the 
clever young girl-farmer was beginning to make the 
thing pay. Farmers on a large scale near watched 
her experiment with much interest. It was im- 
possible for these good-natured men and women to 
be jealous of a mere girl, and when they saw that 
Rosamond looked as humble as possible, notwith- 
standing her little successes, and the demand which 
was created for the carefully buttered fresh eggs, 
and the nice butter in its tempting pats, they came 
forward and voluntarily offered her valuable advice. 
This she was only too pleased to accept, and the 
goodwill towards her was all the more increased 
in consequence. In short, there was no thorn in 
Rosamond’s happy lot except one, but that was a 
very bitter one. Barbara had left her ; she did not 
even know where Barbara was. 

" I shall not give you my address, dear Rose,’' 
Barbara had said in the letter which Rosamond had 


2o6 Merry Girls of Engl. and. 

found on the morning after her sister had left. “I 
want to make my own experiment without your 
knowing anything about me for three full months. 
At the end of that time, if I succeed, I will write and 
tell you everything. If I fail I shall be obliged to 
come back to you. I shall take great — great care 
of myself, so don’t be a bit anxious about me. I am 
taking fifty pounds of my capital, and I promise, 
if possible, not to draw any more. Please, dear Rosa- 
mond, don^t even try to find out where I am living.” 

In the course of that first dreadful morning Mrs. 
Gunning came over to the Gables in an overwhelming 
state of excitement. Hero had also gone away. It 
was easy for Rosamond to guess why Barbara was 
so anxious that the secret of her present residence 
should be respected. 

‘‘It is a very daring and dreadful thing of her 
to do,” thought Rosamond, “ but I always knew she 
was strong and self-willed. How I used to lean on 
her ! Oh ! surely she will keep herself straight } 
Surely she will do nothing really wrong.? Yes^ I 
will respect her secret. Of course, it would be pos- 
sible for me to find out where she is, but I will not 
try to do so.” 

Rosamond said as much to the angry Mrs. Gunning. 

“Yes, Barbara has left me,” she said. “ I have no 
reason whatever to suppose that Hero has gone with 
her ; Barbara has not confided her plans to me. It 
may be possible that Hero has gone with her; I 
cannot say, for I do not know.” 

“ And you seriously mean to tell me,” said Mrs. 
Gunning, “ that you will allow that harum-scarum 
young sister of yours to plunge into the wickedness 
of London life without trying to recover her .? Can 
I believe the evidence of my own ears? I surely 
must be mistaken,” 


Like Father — like Daughter, 207 

" I did not say I would allow Barbara to plunge 
into London life, I said nothing,” said Rosamond 
with some dignity. “ I only wish you to understand 
that, though I am deeply hurt at what Barbara has 
done, I trust her.” 

“Well, then, I don’t trust Hero. To tell you the 
truth. Miss Underhill, I am a very unhappy woman ; 
I am absolutely afraid to tell Mrs. Chevening that 
her granddaughter has fled.” 

“ Suppose I go and tell her ? ” said Rosamond, 
after a pause. 

Mrs. Gunning began to clasp and unclasp her 
wiry hands. 

“ I shall lose my situation,” she said. “ I was 
only kept at the Hall to look after Hero and educate 
her. The old lady will be frightfully angry. Oh, 
what mischief that naughty, wicked girl — yes, I will 
add girls, for your sister is the most to blame — what 
mischief those dreadful girls have done!” 

“ I did not suppose that their going away would 
injure you,” said Rosamond. “Yes, Mrs. Gunning, I 
will certainly go and see Mrs. Chevening ; I will 
explain to her that I do not know where Hero is, but 
that of course my suspicions point to the fact of her 
having left home with Barbara. If Mrs. Chevening 
wishes to take steps to recover Hero, I, of course, 
cannot prevent her.” 

“Really, Miss Underhill, I am obliged to you,” 
said Mrs. Gunning, “and I think, after all, it is the 
wisest thing to do. You will, of course, give Mrs. 
Chevening clearly to understand that I have had 
nothing to do with Hero’s escape ? ” 

“I certainly will. You did your best for Hero 
according to your light ; but I am sorry.” 

“ Sorry for what, young lady ? ” 

“ That you did not try even once or twice to put 


2o8’ Merry Girls of England. 

yourself in her place ; she is so young, so fresh, so 
pretty, it would have been surely easy to make her 
happy and contented.” 

Mrs. Gunning rose from her seat. 

“ Perhaps you are right,” she said ; “ I feel queer 
and confused this morning. The fact is, I am an 
elderly woman, and out of touch with the world. I 
know things are hard for that child, but those who 
do not understand the reason of her grandmother’s 
strange conduct ought not to speak.” 

“ Whatever that reason may be,” answered 
Rosamond, “Hero’s life ought not to be ruined. 
Shall I come with you now to the Hall } ” she 
added. 

“ Perhaps it would be as well. Put on your hat, 
and we can start at once.” 

Rosamond hurried up to her own room. 

Half an hour later she found herself once more 
inside the formidable oak doors of the Hall, and 
rapidly following Mrs. Gunning down a long passage. 
The elder lady knocked at a door which had a thick 
curtain in front of it. A cracked, high voice said, 
“ Come in.” 

“ Go in by yourself ; I cannot possibly face her,” 
said Mrs. Gunning. 

She turned aside, leaving poor Rosamond alone. 
There was a momentary quickening of her heart- 
beats, and then the young girl found herself standing 
in Mrs. Chevening’s presence. 

The old lady had been reading the morning 
paper. Notwithstanding her eighty-six years, she 
still possessed wonderful eyesight. When she saw 
Rosamond she put down her paper and stared with 
all her might. 

“Upon my word, Rosamond Underhill once 
again ! ” she exclaimed. “ What does this mean ? 


Like Father — like Daughter. 209 

Come a little closer, my dear. Who admitted you 
into my presence } ” 

“ Mrs. Gunning,” answered Rosamond. 

“ Mrs. Gunning ! ” repeated Mrs. Chevening in a 
voice which boded ill for that hapless individual. 
“ Gunning has indeed forgotten herself. Frances, are 
you there ? ” 

An elderly woman immediately entered from a 
side room. 

Frances, go and ask Mrs. Gunning to come to 
me directly.” 

The maid softly withdrew. While she was absent 
Mrs. Chevening resumed the reading of her paper ; 
Rosamond stood uncomfortably somewhere about the 
centre of the room. At the end of five or six minutes* 
the servant came back alone. 

“ Mrs. Gunning sends her most respectful compli- 
ments, madam, but she is sorry she cannot come, as 
she has a terrible headache this morning.” 

“ Put ‘ coward * for ‘ headache,’ and we will get 
nearer the truth,” said Mrs. Chevening in a sharp 
voice. Gunning has done something wrong, and is 
afraid — I know her little ways. You can go, Frances, 
and be sure you shut the door after you.” 

Staring in great wonder at Rosamond, the elderly 
servant did as she was told. 

The moment she found herself alone, Rosamond 
took her courage in both hands, and went straight up 
to Mrs. Chevening. 

You are quite right,” she said, “ Mrs. Gunning is 
afraid. She has got terrible news to give you ; she 
is so frightened that she cannot break it to you.” 

“ What is the news ? Pray speak. Remember, I 
am not as young as I was,” said Mrs. Chevening, 
turning white to her very lips. 

“ I am sorry for you,” said Rosamond ; “ but, as it 
N 


210 Merry Girls of England. 

happens, I am not at all afraid of you, so I volun- 
teered to break the news to you.” 

“ Speak, girl, speak. Don’t keep eighty-six 
waiting. When you come to my years, you will know 
how bad it is for the weakened heart of the aged to 
be kept in suspense.” 

“ I will tell you everything if you will listen to 
me,” said Rosamond. “Last night, quite unknown 
to myself or my sisters, Barbara left us.” 

“ Dear me,” said Mrs. Chevening in a somewhat 
mincing voice, the colour returning to her lips. 
“ Barbara ? — I did not even know you had a friend 
or a sister of the name of Barbara. Did poor 
Gunning think this would affect me so badly } Of 
course, if Barbara, whoever she is, has done anything 
wrong, I am sorry for you. Girls certainly are not 
what they were in my days. The love of plain 
needlework has completely vanished. They think of 
nothing but amusing themselves and aping men — 
poor, miserable-looking men they make, too. I don’t 
suppose there is a real, downright, good old-fashioned 
girl now existing on the earth."’^ 

“Please let me finish my story, Mrs. Chevening. 
Barbara left us last night, and Hero 

“ Hero ! ” said Mrs. Chevening, with a start. 

“We think Hero must have gone away with her, 
anyhow, she has also disappeared ; a rope ladder was 
found hanging to the attic above her bedroom, she 
left a letter behind her, which Mrs. Gunning was 
afraid to give to you — I have brought it, here it is. 
I don’t know where Barbara has gone, therefore I 
don’t know where Hero has gone. I can only sus- 
pect that they are away together. That is my news.’ 

Mrs. Chevening sat strangely silent, she did not 
tremble any more, nor did the colour leave her face. 
On the contrary, a bright spot came into each sunken 


Like Father — like Daughter, 21 i 

cheek, and her eyes — blue eyes they must have been 
in her youth — bright and lovely as Hero’s own, began 
to glitter with a very unpleasant light. Rosamond 
watched her anxiously. 

“ Can she have heard what I said ? ” thought the 
young girl to herself. “ Why does she not speak ? ” 

After a prolonged pause, Mrs. Chevening did find 
her voice. 

“ Like father, like daughter,” she said. “ You 
mentioned that you had the note which Hero left, 
with you.” 

Rosamond put it into the old lady’s hands. 

Without even looking at it she tore it into five or 
six pieces. 

“ Miss Underhill,” she said, ‘‘ there is a small fire 
in the grate ; please put this litter into it.” 

“ But what a pity that you have not read what 
Hero has written,” said Rosamond. 

“ I presume that at eighty-six years of age I may 
be allowed to do as I think fit,” said Mrs. Chevening, 
resuming her icy and most formidable tone. “ When 
you have burned the note you can leave me. Miss 
Underhill.” 

Have you nothing to say about Hero .? ” 

Nothing whatever, except to repeat once more. 
Like father, like daughter. Less than a week ago, in 
this room. Hero faithfully promised me that she 
would have nothing whatever to do with you or with 
your sisters ; I respected her word, I believed her, 
for her ancestors were men of honour. I forgot, 
however, that she herself comes of a different stock. 
Alas ! Miss Underhill, I have nothing further to say 
to you.” 

“ Then you will not try to find Hero } ” 

" Certainly not ; in the future she has nothing 
whatever to do with me. Pray tell Gunning that I hold 
N 2 


212 Merry Girls of England. 

her blameless. The person I do blame is your sister, 
the Barbara of whom you have just spoken. I never 
want to hear your sister’s name again, I never wish 
to hear my granddaughter’s name again, and I never 
wish to see you again. Pray leave me immediately.” 

Rosamond was forced to quit the room. 

Mrs. Gunning was waiting, trembling, outside. 

“I have told her everything,” said Rosamond. 
“ She is very angry, but she does not blame you ; she 
says she will never speak to Hero again. She made 
use of one queer expression, * Like father, like 
daughter.’ ” 

I know what she means, and it is a cruel blow,” 
said Mrs. Gunning. “Well, Miss Underhill, I am 
obliged to you. You think I may really go to her 
presently } ” 

“ I think you may. I doubt if she will allude to 
Hero in your presence.” 

“ Unhappy girl, child indeed ! Well, as she has 
made her bed so she must lie on it. Good-bye, Miss 
Underhill.” 

Rosamond returned to the farm. She busied 
herself more than ever in bringing her experiment to 
success. She was occupied from morning to night. 
Nevertheless, night after night, as she laid her head 
on her pillow, and morning after morning as she 
awoke with the dawn, the thought of Barbara pressed 
sore against her heart. 


CHAPTER XXII. 


THE BLACK SILK, THE GREY SILK, AND THE 
DRAWING-ROOM IN EATON SQUARE. 

Nature had seldom created a brighter or sweeter 
girl than Hero Chevening. She was witty without 
being in the least vulgar, she was full of rare 
sympathy, she was very beautiful to look at, she 
also possessed infinite and really wonderful tact. It 
was Hero’s nature to make the best of things. It is 
true that her life at the Hall had been almost un- 
bearable, but now that she felt a certain degree of 
freedom she was perfectly happy, and Mrs. Jennings 
had never obtained so contented a companion. In 
short. Hero was not long in her presence before she 
completely fascinated that rather cantankerous and 
troublesome little woman. Even Dawson could not 
'help smiling when Hero’s bright face appeared, morn- 
ing after morning, at the door. 

“ Run up, miss,” she used to say ; ** missus is fairly 
craving for you. I am sure it’s a load off my mind 
that she has got a companion to suit her at last.” 

Then when Hero reached Mrs. Jennings’s room, 
Mrs. Jennings would greet her with an affectionate 
smile, and six pampered, over-petted, but really 
affectionate, quadrupeds, would rush in a body to 
meet her, jumping all over her, licking her face and 
hands, and giving her that worship which the canine 
species bestows so largely upon the human. 

“If I did not like Mrs. Jennings, I should love 
these dear dogs,” thought Hero to herself. She soon 


214 Merry Girls ob England, 

began to discriminate between them, to find out their 
idiosyncrasies, to humour them, and to draw out their 
best points. She also fairly put old Mrs. Jennings 
into screams of laughter by teaching Demon, Pet, 
and Duke some new tricks. 

Duke would lie, at the word of command, as if he 
were stone dead, and Demon and Pet would sit, one 
at his head and the other at his feet, looking at him 
in the most miserable and conscious manner. Then, 
when the right moment came, the resuscitated Duke 
would jump up to take the lump of sugar which he 
had so well earned. 

Hero looked like the veritable child she was at 
these times, and Mrs. Jennings felt as if youth were 
returning to her as she watched her. In some ways 
Mrs. Jennings reminded Hero of her grandmother. 
She was about the same age and about the same 
height, but her brown eyes had a far kindlier gleam 
in them than the stony pale-blue eyes of the old 
autocrat at the Hall. 

Hero used to watch her intently at these times, 
and sometimes the faintest ghost of a sigh would 
escape her lips. 

“What is it, my love? A child of your age 
ought never to sigh ; it weakens the heart,” said the 
little lady. 

“ I suppose, however young one is, there are 
times when one has to feel sad,” Hero would 
answer brightly ; “ but .1 am all right now, Mrs. 
Jennings. Come here. Demon, and sit on my lap.” 

“Really, Hero, I shall be jealous of you if the 
dogs get any fonder. I insist, at least, on Pet 
occupying my lap whilst you have Demon on 
yours.” 

“Pet, go this minute to Mrs. Jennings,” said Hero 
in an authoritative voice. 



“duke would lie . . . AS IF HE WERE STONE DEAD” (/. 214). 


■ % 
4 ' 


Kvr 




^ 1 


’4“ -- 


^ • * J* 

■ V 

a: ' ■ 

■ V 

« 

k' 

' - • * 




i4^ 


i - 

)L4*f - J '^?’’. 

• tvl #WT 


»■ 






The Drawing-Room in Eaton Square. 215 

Pet, who much preferred Hero, went to the old 
lady in a somewhat gingerly manner with his tail 
drooping. As her pockets were full of chocolates, 
however, he stayed quietly on her lap and allowed 
himself to be over-fed with sweets. 

“You are completely spoiling him,” said Hero 
“ I forbid you to give him another chocolate. If you 
want to know why I sighed just now, I sighed 
because you reminded me of someone I used to 
know very well.” 

“ Someone you used to know very well } 
wonder who that was.” 

“A dear old lady, something like you, onl> 
prettier.” 

“ Really, Hero Chevening, you are a very 
audacious young person. Do you mean to imply 
that I am not a pretty old lady ? ” 

“You would be a sweet-looking old lady if you 
would allow me to dress you.” 

“ What do you mean, child ” 

“Well, you wear such ugly clothes. If I might 
put you into ” 

“What? Do let me hear,” said Mrs. Jennings. 
“Really, this is most entertaining. My last com- 
panion never would talk ; she read aloud the whole 
time, and the dogs detested her. What would you 
dress me in, my love ? ” 

“ In very handsome dark-grey or black silk ; and 
you should wear real lace ruffles, and a soft lace cap 
over that beautiful white hair. You would look quite 
a picture.” 

“Hero, you must be joking. A woman at my 
time of life look like a picture ! ” 

“ You don’t look at all nice as it is,” said Hero, 
bending her head a little to one side, and speaking 
critically. “ Your hair, of course, is lovely ; nothing 


2i6 


Merry Girls of England. 


can spoil that. And you have that dear, dark kind 
of face which suits white hair so well. But why will 
you wear snuff colour and that horrid cap ? Oh, do 
let us go out with the dogs ! We might go to 
one of the shops in Buckingham Palace Road, 
and I would choose a heavenly costume for you. 
Will you let me, Mrs. Jennings? Please — please 
say ‘Yes.’ ” 

“You certainly are a fascinating little witch,” said 
Mrs. Jennings. “ The idea of my looking well ! My 
child, I will tell you something. I was really 
handsome — I was much admired in my youth, and 
even in my middle age ; but, of course, lately I have 
given up all those sort of vanities. The fact is, dear, 
I am expecting a visitor before long.” 

“ A visitor ? Really ? ” 

“ Yes ; someone whom I dearly love, and who — 
who once gave me trouble — bitter trouble. I should 
like to look nice when he comes back.” 

“ Mrs. Jennings, you must look nice.” 

“ But Dawson, my dear — what will she say ? ” 

“Now, are you going to be ruled by Dawson?” 
asked Hero. “ Dawson is an excellent creature, and 
I am very fond of her ; but I know, if I were going 
to be under the dominion of anyone in this house, I 
should choose Duke. Duke, come here. Now, 
Duke, the solemn truth. Do you wish Mrs. Jennings 
to be turned into a dear picture-lady worthy of a 
beautiful dog like yourself ; or is she to remain the 
old dowd she was when I took possession of her? 
Yes, Duke, when I took possession of her. Now, 
Mrs. Jennings, please don’t laugh. If Duke wishes 
you to remain a dowd, he will not eat this piece of 
sugar which I am going to place in the hollow of his 
nose. If you are to be turned into a charming old 
lady, he will catch the sugar at the word of command 


The Drawing-Room in Eaton Square, 217 

and gobble it up. Now then, Duke, good dog — 
trust ! ” 

Duke stood up on his hind legs and looked 
unutterable things. Mrs. Jennings fairly shook in 
her chair with mirth. 

Hero placed the sugar on the dog’s nose, gazed at 
him earnestly for a moment, then said “ Paid for.” 
The sugar was caught, crunched up, and Hero 
clapped her hands. 

“ There,” she said, “ you know what Duke’s 
opinion is.” 

Duke’s eyes looked quite melting as he licked his 
chops after having devoured the sugar. 

“ Well, I declare,” said Mrs. Jennings, “you are an 
extraordinary child ! And I suppose Duke’s opinion 
does settle it. Of course, I never thought the dogs 
would care how I looked ; but they have taken such 
a fancy to you that I suppose they are really rather 
susceptible to appearances. That quite settles the 
question. We will have a carriage after lunch, my 
love, and drive to Westbourne Grove. I rather fancy 
things are cheaper there than in Buckingham Palace 
Road. I must really economise a little, you know. 
I don’t quite agree with your idea of grey silk. I 
think black would be best for me. Or might it not 
be black alpaca ? ” 

“On no account,” said Hero. “Alpaca would be 
downright vulgar at your age. It must be silk — 
good, stiff, proper silk, fit for a dear old lady. Now 
then, I shall go off to Dawson and desire her to send 
a messenger to the livery stables.” 

Hero skipped joyfully out of the room. She gave 
her orders in such a commanding and yet coaxing 
tone that Dawson had not the heart to refuse. 

“ But did you say an open carriage. Miss 
Chevening ? ” 


2i8 Merry Girls oe England. 

“Yes, please; a comfortable one. It had better 
be a landau.” 

“Are you sure that it is safe for Mrs. Jennings 
at her extreme old age } ” 

“Oh, yes, Dawson; it is perfectly safe. Mrs. 
Jennings is quite strong; and what she really wants 
is air and amusement. Do you not think I am 
making her young } ” 

“ I declare, miss, it is cheerful to have you in the 
house,” said Dawson. “Well, I’ll go and send Tom 
off at once with the order.” 

Accordingly, immediately after lunch that day Mrs. 
Jennings, Hero, and the six dogs took an airing 
abroad. Duke the collie, and Bounce the Scotch 
terrier followed the carriage, but Chip, Jakes, Petj and 
Demon were accommodated with seats within. Chip 
and Jakes sat perfectly upright facing Mrs. Jennings 
and Hero, but Pet had a place of honour on the old 
lady’s lap, and Demon took possession of Hero’s. 

“Now we really feel nice,” said Hero. “Where 
are we to go for the dresses, Mrs. Jennings? ” 

“To Westbourne Grove, dear. I rather dread 
Buckingham Palace Road.” 

“ Well, for my part, I don’t care where we go,” 
said Hero ; “ but please understand that we are not 
going to get cheap things. It is all very well for 
young girls like me to wear cheap dresses, but you at 
least must be dressed according to your age and 
station. You must live up to your years, Mrs. 
Jennings.” 

“ Live up to my years ! My good child, what in 
the world do you mean ? ” 

“ Exactly what I say. The longer you live, the 
more you ought to respect yourself. You are over 
eighty, therefore you ought to respect yourself 
immensely. You will be a very proud old lady 


The Drawing-Room in Eaton Square. 219 

before I have done with you. Now then, shall I give 
the coachman the order ? It rather upsets Pet when 
you fidget about.” 

“ Yes, child, pray undertake the whole thing ; you 
have quite made my heart beat, and yet you have 
given me a great deal of pleasurable excitement. It 
is long since I was so entertained. You might be a 
granddaughter of my own, you are so very nice to 
me, Hero.” 

“ Well, you see, I am fond of you,” said Hero in her 
sweet voice. She just turned her dark-blue eyes for a 
moment to send a ray of pure, unadulterated love 
into the wrinkled old eyes of the woman by her 
side. 

The order was given that the carriage was to drive 
to a well-known shop in Westbourne Grove, and here 
the two ladies got out, accompanied as usual by the 
six dogs. Hero by this time was clever enough to 
manage the leashes, but they made a somewhat 
remarkable progress into the big shop. Several 
customers turned to look : such a very old lady, such 
a very young girl, such a number of dogs ! 

Presently one of the shopwalkers came up, and 
Hero gave her orders in a decided tone. 

“ We want to see really good silk,” she said, “ suit- 
able for this lad^; ” she gave a little bow as she spoke 
in the direction *of Mrs. Jennings. Anyone would 
suppose from her air that she was alluding at least to 
Queen Victoria. 

The shopwalker bowed also, not knowing what 
exalted personage might be concealed under humble- 
looking little Mrs. Jennings. He led the ladies to a 
counter, accommodated them with chairs, which the 
dogs instantly monopolised, and had to be knocked 
off. Finally a shopman came forward, and Hero again 
took possession of the occasion. 


220 Merry Girls of England. 

“ We want to see the very best silks you keep,” she 
said, “the richest quality ; dark grey and black.” 

“ My dear child,” said Mrs. Jennings, “I do not 
want two silk dresses.” 

“Yes, dear, you do,” replied Hero in her coaxing 
voice. “ While you are about it, you may just as well 
have both. It is really a great trouble going shopping 
with the dogs, and we shall not want to repeat the 
experiment often.” 

Mrs. Jennings sighed, and shook her head. 

“ What will Dawson say to all this ? ” she 
exclaimed. 

But Hero was absolutely indifferent to anything 
Dawson might like to say. 

A length of black silk was cut off, and a similar 
length of dark grey. Then the ladies were conveyed 
to a lace counter, where Hero indulged in unheard-of 
extravagance in the purchasing of real lace. 

Mrs. Jennings was simply horrified. 

“ Hero,” she whispered in despair, “ I shall be 
ruined ; I shall not be able to pay for it.” 

“ Oh, yes, you will ; you have plenty of money in 
the bank,” answered Hero in her very calmest of 
voices. 

The lace and silk being purchased, the ladies 
returned once more to their carriage, and had a 
delightful drive through the Park. 

As they were driving near the Row, Hero 
suddenly spoke. 

“ What day do you expect your friend ? ” she 
asked. 

“ My friend. Hero > Ah, soon, very soon ; in about 
three weeks, I think.” 

“ Then your dresses must be ready, and there are 
a great many other things to do. We had better go 
to a dressmaker at once.” 


The Drawing-Room in Eaton Square. 221 

“ I think Dawson knows something of dressmak- 
ing,” said Mrs. Jennings. 

“ Dawson ! ” answered Hero in a withering tone. 
“ Do you suppose for an instant, Mrs. Jennings, that 
Dawson could make these dresses? Your dresses 
must be made in a very beautiful way.” 

“ My dear child, once for all, I will not appear in 
the fashion of the present day.” 

“ You need not, dear ; the present fashion would 
not suit you. Your dresses must be made in the most 
charming style to suit a very pretty old lady. 
Ruffles of lace must half hide your hands, and ruffles 
of lace must surround your neck, and your cap must 
be soft, very soft, and falling in graceful folds over 
your dear white hair. I think I shall do the ruffling 
myself ; I believe I have a turn for that sort of 
thing.” 

Mrs. Jennings became more and more interested. 

“ Anyone would suppose,” she said after a pause, 
** that I was a young girl going to her first drawing- 
room, I absolutely feel excited. After all, snuff colour 
is not becoming; though it wears well, my love, it 
wears admirably.” 

“ It is just the colour of dirt, and therefore does 
not show dirt,” answered Hero ; “ but once you get 
into your nice new dresses you are never to put on 
that snuff-coloured dress again, do you hear ? ” 

The ladies returned home, and early the next morn- 
ing Hero had the satisfaction of giving full directions to 
a competent dressmaker with regard to Mrs. Jennings’s 
toilet. Having arranged matters so far to her satis- 
faction, she then began to turn her active little brain 
to revolutionising the house. 

One morning she arrived fully twenty minutes 
before nine o’clock. 

“Mrs. Jennings is not up yet, miss,” said Dawson. 


222 


Merry Girls of England. 


“ But I will whisper a secret to you,” she continued ; 
“ the dresses came back last night.” 

“ Did she open the box, Dawson } ” asked Hero. 

“ No, miss. She said when you were not in the 
house she did not seem to take much interest in 
dress.” 

“ Oh, well, now I am in the house she shall try 
them on ; but please listen to me, Dawson, the room 
she sits in is not at all pretty.” 

“ Well, no, miss, but it seems to suit an aged 
body like my mistress. Is it not wrong of you to 
put vanity into her head, Miss Hero ? ” 

“ I don’t put vanity into her head ; I just make 
her life interesting,” answered Hero. “Why should 
she not enjoy herself when she has plenty of money 
in the bank ? She does not mind what she spends 
on the dogs, although that is silly, for the dogs get 
so pampered. But as to her own appearance, until I 
came she never gave it a thought. Now, Dawson, I 
arrived early this morning on purpose.” 

“What for, miss? You really are a most deter- 
mined young lady ; but I will say I never saw my 
mistress take so to anyone, never since the poor 
gentleman she was so fond of went away.” 

“Is that the gentleman who is coming within the 
next few weeks ? ” asked Hero. 

“ The very same, miss ; but you must not say 
that I mentioned it.” 

“ I never repeat what people tell me,” answered 
Hero, with a little haughty air which suited her well 
and repressed Dawson. 

“ She comes of a good old stock herself,” muttered 
the servant, “although she is obliged to go out as 
a companion. I wonder now, pretty lamb, what 
her history is.” 

“Well, miss,” she continued, “you cannot see 


The Drawing-Room in Eaton Square. 223 

my mistress for a bit. She never cares to be dis- 
turbed before nine o’clock.” 

“ No, Dawson, but you and I will go round the 
house. I have never seen the house properly yet. 
It is a very large and beautiful house, is it not ? ” 

“ Well — yes, miss. At one time it was considered 
a mansion. They had plenty of company here in 
old Mr. Jennings’s time, but since he died my mistress 
has never cared to see company, and the house has 
got shut up, and shut up, and shut up, until now 
there is only a little bit of it used.” 

“ Well, it has got to open, and open, and open,” 
said Hero. “ I have taken the reins, and I mean to 
manage.” 

“ Dear me, miss, you are masterful.” 

“ Come along, Dawson ; you know you are de- 
lighted in your heart of hearts. Now I want to 
see the drawing-room.” 

‘‘ The drawing-room, miss } It has not been sat 
in for over fifteen years.” 

“ All the more reason why it should be used now. 
Do you suppose I am going to dress up my dear 
old lady in the lovely way I have managed to, and 
then that I am going to keep her in that hideous 
little back sitting-room ? No, she shall use the 
drawing-room. Come, Dawson, I want to look at it.” 

Accordingly, Dawson, puzzled and pleased, led 
the way, and Hero examined the drawing-room to 
her heart’s content. It was a very large room, and 
had the cold, damp, disagreeable feeling which shut 
up rooms always possess. The furniture was, in 
some ways, however, magnificent There were all 
sorts of Queen Anne tables and Chippendale furni- 
ture and other splendid relics of a past age. It is 
true that the Brussels carpet was a little worn, and 
the original pattern somewhat difficult to distinguish. 


224 Merry Girls of England. 

The paper on the walls was much faded, and there 
were stains, dark stains caused by damp here and 
there. The lovely tapestry curtains were also not of 
the latest design, but Hero, who had a keen eye 
for decoration, saw at a glance that these things 
could quickly be renovated. 

“ Don’t you think your mistress very much better, 
Dawson ? ” she said abruptly. 

“To be sure I do, miss. Why, I would hardly 
know her; she is as active as possible, and so much 
interested in different things, and she don’t talk from 
morn to night of the quadrupeds. Really, miss, I 
have a love myself for dumb animals, but never to 
hear anything else spoken of, it do become monot- 
onous now and then. Miss Hero.” 

To be sure it does, Dawson. Well, now, you see 
your mistress has her dress — and a very pretty dress 
it is — and as she does not stir about much it will last 
her a very long time, so you and I have got to give 
her a new interest. The new interest, Dawson, is 
going to be the drawing-room. She shall come down 
here with me this morning, but please, beforehand, 
will you open the windows, and draw up the blinds, 
and light a large fire in the grate.” 

“ Well, you have courage,” said Dawson, “but 
it shall be done. You amuse me too, miss ; I have, 
something else to think of now besides the quadrupeds.” 

An old-fashioned grandfather’s clock on one of 
the landings struck nine at this moment, and Hero 
hurried upstairs to attend to the dogs. Mrs. Jennings 
was already seated in her chair by the fire. 

“ My dear child,” she said, in an excited voice, 
“ the box with the dresses has come.” 

Hero looked rather melancholy. 

“They are so unsuited to this room,^^ she said, 
with a sigh. 


The Drawing-Room in Eaton Square. 225 

“ Hero, what do you mean ? Why, you ordered 
them. I am quite anxious, really anxious, to try 
them on.” 

“So you shall,” said Hero; “but first of all I 
do want you to have a suitable room to wear them 
in. Now this is a lovely house full of beautiful rooms. 
I have just been in the drawing-room. In the future, 
Mrs. Jennings, you and I will sit in the drawing-room.” 

“No, Hero, no, I could not bear it.” 

“ But you won’t look like a picture, you will 
look quite out of place in this room. In this room 
you really are suitably dressed in your snuff colour, 
but if you wish to wear black silk fit for a duchess, 
and grey silk fit for the Queen herself, you must 
use a room to correspond. Now I have just been 
in the drawing-room, and I want you to come there, 
and the dogs shall come too. Duke, would not you 
like to sit in the drawing-room ? If you would, sit 
up this minute and beg.^^ 

Duke rose immediately on his hind legs, having 
a keen eye for sugar, large lumps of which Hero 
was in the habit of keeping in her pocket. 

Soon afterwards the old lady and the young one 
went downstairs to the magnificent reception-room. 
As usual. Hero turned Mrs. Jennings round her little 
finger, and before the end of that day upholsterers 
were sent in to put up new curtains to the large 
doors, and to slightly alter the tapestry curtains 
which hung round the wide expanse of windows. 

Hero also rushed off to Liberty’s to buy little 
table covers, antimacassars, and a few other pretty 
articles, to give the room a fresh appearance. Then, 
with Dawson’s connivance, she sent a large order 
to a neighbouring florist, and flowers in pots were 
introduced here and there, large ferns, and even a 
palm or two were also admitted into the room 
o 


226 Merry Girls of England. 

On the following day the drawing-room looked 
as if it had been lived in for years. Mrs. Jennings’s 
own favourite arm-chair was brought down from the 
parlour at the top of the house. The dogs were 
accommodated with rugs, and Hero had the intense 
satisfaction of leading in her little old lady dressed 
in her black silk, with her ruffles of real lace, and 
beautiful cap. 

“You are a queen,” said Hero. “Now sit down 
and look around you. Don’t you feel fifty times 
happier ? ” 

“ I certainly feel happy because you take an 
interest in me,” said Mrs. Jennings. “Yes, and the 
room is certainly beautiful. It seems to bring back 
my youth to sit here. Do you know, Hero, that I 
have lived in this house as wife, as widow, for over 
sixty years ? ” 

“ Well, it is a very nice house to live in,” said 
Hero. 

“You have made it nice to me once again, darling. 
Yes, I feel quite happy ; I shall be ready to see my 
friend when he returns. But, Hero, dear, as you have 
done so much for me, you must allow me to do 
some little thing in return for you. That brown 
holland dress, for instance ” 

“ Oh, please don’t talk of my clothes, I — I am 
nothing at all, I am not to be considered,” said Hero, 
but her cheeks grew crimson. 

“ Well, Hero, that is not my way of looking at the 
question. I think you are to be considered a great 
deal. Please run upstairs to my bedroom ; when you 
open the door you will find a box, untie the cord, 
take off the brown paper, and look at what lies inside. 
I want my little girl to be also suitably dressed when 
she sits with me in this beautiful drawing-room.” 

“You don’t mean to say you have got me a lovely 


The Drawing-Room in Eaton Square, 227 

frock,” said Hero. “Well, I must honestly say that 
I pine for nice clothes. I never did when I was in 
the country, but since I have come to London and 
seen people in smart dresses in the Park I have 
wished sometimes to be like them. But I hope, Mrs. 
Jennings, the dress you have bought me is a kind 
that the dogs won't injure.” 

“ The dogs must learn to behave themselves,” said 
Mrs. Jennings in quite a tone of asperity, which so 
surprised and delighted Hero that she clapped her 
hands with joy. 

“ I do declare you are cured,” she exclaimed. 
“Your love for dogs had almost assumed the strength 
of a mania when I came here ; now you treat them 
like reasonable creatures. Pet, go this minute and 
lie on your velvet rug. Demon, if you don’t stay 
by the fire and stop quarrelling with Bounce I shall 
send you back to the room upstairs ; do you hear 
me, sir ? ” 

Demon blinked his bright eyes, shook his crooked 
little legs, and finally subsided in a meek manner by 
Bounce’s side. 

Duke, who took a lordly air, as befitted his title, 
from the the first, lay down somewhere in the centre 
of the room, and Hero ran upstairs to try on her 
pretty frock. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


TO MEET MISS CLARKSON. 

IT was surprising in what an incredibly short space 
of time Hero Chevening managed to revolutionise 
the old house in Eaton Square. One by one the 
splendid old rooms were opened, cleaned out, and 
got ready for occupation. Then a proper staff of 
servants was engaged, and in short, the house 
began to look exactly like the neighbouring houses 
close by. Hero managed everything without appear- 
ing to manage at all. She simply suggested in that 
quiet manner which was peculiar to her, and Mrs 
Jennings found herself following in the energetic 
young lead not at all against her will. 

Dawson was promoted to be housekeeper and 
lady’s maid. The dining-room was used for meals, 
the library was opened, aired^ partly refurnished, and 
stocked with fresh books, which Hero ordered some- 
what indiscriminately. 

Mrs. Jennings, dressed in her rich, black silk, or 
her lovely dark grey, as the occasion required, sat 
day after day in her beautiful drawing-room, 
and now Hero began to turn her active little 
brain to the use that the renovated house should 
be put to. 

“ It is a perfect sin to waste it on an old woman 
and a very young girl,” she said to herself. People 
ought to come here, people ought to see us. Where 
could anyone find in the whole of England a more 
fascinating old lady than my darling Mrs. Jennings? 


To MEET Miss Clarkson, 229 

Who would recognise her for the hideous little woman 
she appeared the first day I saw her? Yes, we must 
entertain company. Mrs. Jennings must look up her 
friends. What a great deal of good it did her when 
she was having her dresses made — the fitting them 
on, the talking them over, and finally the wearing of 
them, quite took her out of herself ; then there was 
the rearranging and opening out of the old house ; 
but now the dresses are made, and the house is 
opened, and Mrs. Jennings must have some fresh 
interest or she will fall back once more upon the 
dogs. Now, no one loves dogs better than I do, 
but dogs are dogs, and human beings are human 
beings, and I must say candidly, I put the human 
race before the canine. Yes, it is absolutely necessary 
for Mrs. Jennings to entertain.” 

Accordingly, one day towards the end of Septem- 
ber, Hero seated herself as usual by her friend’s side. 
She was busily engaged in making some soft ruffles 
for the little lady’s wrists. 

“ A penny for your thoughts. Hero,” said Mrs. 
Jennings, who, having just partaken of a very 
delicious, well-cooked lunch in a handsome room, 
and afterwards having enjoyed a nice little nap, 
was in exactly the humour to wish to be pleasantly 
entertained. 

“ Hero, a penny for your thoughts,” she re- 
peated. 

“ They are worth a great deal more than a penny,” 
said Hero brightly, “ but you shall have them without 
purchase. Now, do you know what I have been 
thinking about ? ” 

“ I have no doubt something fantastic and out of 
the common, as usual,” said Mrs. Jennings, with a 
much interested smile. 

“ Not at all. I want you to rack your memory.” 


230 Merry Girls of England. 

“ My memory, dear child, my memory ! Oh, by 
the way, Hero, do you think that Duke is quite 
well? I noticed when I touched him a minute ago 
that his nose was hot.” 

“ Duke is in perfect health,” said Hero. “ Lie 
down, Duke, and keep quiet. Now then, Mrs. Jen- 
nings, dear, please think hard. When did you last 
have company in this house ? ” 

“Oh, darling, I have been a solitary woman for 
many years.” 

“ Well, now you shall know my thoughts. It 
seems such a pity that you and I should live day after 
day in this beautiful house, and that no one should 
ever come to see us. You know the nice parlourmaid 
we have engaged, she is quite accustomed to waiting, 
and the cook makes the most delicious cakes I 
ever tasted — then the housemaid, she keeps the stairs 
and the reception-rooms in perfect order. When that 
friend of yours comes back, do you think he will like 
to be alone with you ? ” 

“ Very likely. Hero, very likely indeed ; he has 
been accustomed to solitude.” 

Mrs. Jennings’s lips trembled as she spoke, and a 
misty look came into her dark eyes. 

“Well then, all I can say is this,” said Hero, 
stamping her little foot with impatience, “ that 
solitude is very bad for him, and for everybody else. 
When he comes here, he must see some of your 
friends, or you will not be doing him justice. What 
friends have you, Mrs. Jennings ? ” 

“ There was Miss Clarkson,” said Mrs. Jennings ; 
“ I used to know Miss Clarkson very well — that is, 
before she got so celebrated. She is a well-known 
author now, and I have not seen her for quite — let 
me see — quite six years. I used to be fond of her, 
she gave me sympathy, she knew that I had gone 


To MEET Miss Clarkson. 231 

through much sorrow. I should rather like to see 
Miss Clarkson again.” 

“ Wait a minute,” said Hero, until I get my little 
pocket-book out.” 

She thrust her hand into her pocket, drew out a 
small note-book, and wrote down Miss Clarkson's 
name. 

“ Where does she live ? ” she asked. 

" Why, in Eaton Square, my love, not six doors 
from here.” 

" Delightful ! We’ll soon have her back.” 

‘*But, dear, will she care to come? She is a 
celebrated author.” 

'‘You don’t mean to say that she has written 
books ? ” said Hero, her eyes dancing. 

“ Yes : some novels, and some books of poetry — 
they have all made hits, I am given to understand. 
I never cared for poetry myself, and of late years I 
have only taken an interest in what I call dog 
literature; but her novels, they say, are also very 
clever. She has made a great deal of money by her 
books, not that she wants the money, for she is quite 
independent of it, having private means. She spends 
a great deal of her time at the British Museum.” 

“ We will have her to tea, by all means,” said 
Hero. “ Now is there anybody else ? ” 

“ I used also to know Mr. and Mrs. Charles.” 

Mr. and Mrs. Charles? — I am glad there is a 
Mr. I don’t believe it is good for women only to 
associate with their own sex. And where do they 
live, please ? ” 

“ In Belgrave Square.” 

“We often drive through Belgrave Square, do we 
not ? ” asked Hero. 

“ Of course, my love, it is one of the most fashion- 
able parts of London.” 


232 -Merry Girls of England, 

“ I will enter their names in my notebook,” said 
Hero. “ Anybody else ? ” 

Yes, there are others, but I don’t think I want to 
see all my old friends together. I should not object 
to Miss Clarkson, nor to Mr. and Mrs. Charles, for 
they were good to me, and would understand why 
I could not see company of late.” 

“ Then I may write to them, may I not, Mrs. 
Jennings, in your name, and ask them to come and 
have tea ? ” 

“ Of course, dear, if you think they would care to 
come.” 

“ If they love you, of course they will care to 
come.” 

“ They don’t love me. Hero ; it is only you, my 
child, who have managed to give me a little of that 
delicious elixir to cheer me in my old age.” 

“ I am sure they like you, dear,” said Hero in her 
loving voice, “ and when they see you looking sweeter 
than any other old lady in London, why, their liking 
will soon grow into love. Now I am going to write 
the invitations immediately.” 

Hero rose as she spoke. She went to a pretty 
new davenport which stood near, opened it, took out 
some crested and addressed paper, and wrote notes in 
Mrs. Jennings’s name to request the pleasure of Mr. 
and Mrs. Charles’s company, and Miss Clarkson’s 
company, to afternoon tea on the following Thursday. 

Having written the letters. Hero stamped them ; 
she then rang the bell, and a neat parlourmaid 
appeared, who was given instructions to see that they 
were posted immediately. 

“ Now that is done,” said Hero with a great sigh, 
“ and I can return in peace to my ruffling. Dear, you 
must wear your grey silk on Thursday.” 

“ What about a new dress for yourself, Hero ? ” 


To MEET Miss Clarkson, 233 

I won’t have it, Mrs. Jennings ; the dress I have 
on now fits me to perfection. I don’t want on this 
occasion anything or anybody to eclipse you — you 
are to be the belle of the party, the sweetest and 
dearest old lady in the whole of London.” 

“ Hero, you will really fill my mind with thoughts 
of vanity. Ought I, who am so near the end of my 
journey, to think of such things as fine clothes and 
company ? ” 

“Why not? Why may you not be happy and 
enjoy life on to the very end. And as to your 
thinking of fine clothes and company, why, your 
heart is full of kind thoughts, full to the brim. I 
know all about you. There is no person in real 
trouble or distress that you would not gladly help.” 

“If there is any trouble that I can help you out 
of, Hero, I should be only too delighted,” said the 
little old lady after a pause. 

Hero looked full up at her, her clear, bright 
blue eyes gazed frankly into the shrewd eyes of the 
old lady. 

“ My child, you have a trouble, I see it in your face.” 

“ It is about Barbara,” said Hero. 

“Barbara!” exclaimed Mrs. Jennings. “She is 
that nice young girl with whom you live. You and 
she occupy a flat together. Do you know, I feel 
jealous of Barbara ? But for Barbara you would not 
leave me night or day.” 

“ I could never give Barbara up,” answered Hero, 
“ I think I love her best in all the world. She was 
my friend when I was in great trouble and per- 
plexity.” 

“ You have never told me your own story, Hero.” 

“ Oh, that can keep, Mrs. Jennings. But now, 
may I tell you just a little about Barbara ? ” 

“ Certainly, dear ; I am all attention.” 


234 Merry Girls of England. 

“ Well, she is wonderfully clever. Do you know, 
although she is only sixteen, she has written a book, 
such a good book that it is going to be published. 
She is busy now all day correcting proofs. The book 
is to appear very shortly.” 

“Then I tell you what we will do,” said Mrs. 
Jennings, sitting up in her excitment, “you shall 
bring Barbara here on Thursday to meet Miss Clark- 
son. Miss Clarkson will be delighted to make her 
acquaintance, and I am sure she could give your little 
friend valuable advice.” 

“ I wonder if Barbara would like it,” said Hero, in 
a thoughtful voice. 

“ She could not but be pleased. Miss Clarkson is 
one of the most celebrated poets of the day, and her 
novels also have made quite a stir. Oh yes, she shall 
meet your friend, or cousin, or whatever Barbara is.” 

“ Barbara is no relation, although I love her with 
all my heart,” answered Hero. 

“ Be sure you insist on her coming on Thursday.” 

“I will ask her, Mrs. Jennings. I can never 
answer for Barbara, but I will do my utmost to get 
her to come.” 

“ Do, child ; I shall be delighted to make her 
acquaintance.” 

When Hero returned to the flat in Bloomsbury 
that evening she ran briskly upstairs. Barbara was 
as usual bending over her proofs. She looked up 
now, when Hero came in and spoke in an impatient 
and somewhat cross voice. 

“ I wish you would not bang the door, my head 
aches so dreadfully.” 

“Well then, shut up your work, Barbara,” said 
Hero. “ How can you expect not to have headaches 
when you grind and grind, and hardly ever go out 
from morning to night.” 


To MEET Miss Clarkson, 235 

"It IS easy for you to look bright/' answered 
Barbara. “You have evidently fallen on your feet 
with that old lady, whoever she is.” 

“ She is about the dearest old lady in the world,” 
answered Hero. “She reminds me of Grannie — of 
Grannie if she would only be amiable, and let her heart 
speak. Grannie, as I have sometimes seen her in my 
dreams. Barbara, shut up those proofs, for I want to 
speak to you ; I have got quite an interesting piece of 
news for you.” 

“ Well then wait a moment, I must correct this 
sentence.” 

Barbara bent forward again over her work. She 
was thinking hard, and her dark brows were knit to- 
gether in a frown which looked almost angry. After 
a moment she made a satisfactory correction, and 
leant back with a sigh. 

“Well.?” she said. 

“ Well, Barbara, I really begin to consider myself 
a sort of fairy princess. I have effected such wonders 
in Eaton Square. My dear old lady is properly 
dressed, the house has got its full complement of ser- 
vants, the rooms are thrown open, and now at last 
when all things are ready, hey presto ! the company 
begin to arrive. Our first tea-party takes place on 
Thursday, and you Babs, you Babs darling, are invited 
as one of the guests.” 

*‘You know I cannot possibly go, Hero. What 
clothes have I to wear at a house in Eaton Square ? ” 

“You must have a proper dress,” said Hero, “you 
surely have a little money of your own .? ” 

“ None whatever to spend on finery : I cannot go.” 

“You shall — I insist upon it. Barbara, it is more 
important than you think — you are to meet an author 
there, a very celebrated author.” 

“ An author .? ” said Barbara, looking interested. 


236 Merry Girls of England 

“ No less a person than Miss Clarkson the poet, 
who lives also in Eaton Square.” 

Clarkson,” said Barbara ; “ of course, I know her 
name. I have read several of her poems — they are 
splendid. You don’t mean to say that she is invited ? ” 

“Yes, and I hope she will come. She used to be 
a great friend of Mrs. Jennings. I told Mrs. Jennings 
to-day that you, my dear, wonderful Babs, had written 
a book yourself, and then she said at once that you must 
meet Miss Clarkson. She will be awfully offended if 
you do not come, and so shall I. You will promise, 
won’t you ? ” 

“ I should like to meet Miss Clarkson,” said 
Barbara, “but, as I said just now, without any ex- 
aggeration, I have nothing to wear.” 

“ But there is that dress of mine, nearly new, that 
pretty soft grey silk. You know I don’t want it a 
bit, now that Mrs. Jennings has taken it into her 
head to clothe me. It can be altered a little for you, 
and we certainly can afford a new hat. Now, Barbara 
darling, to please me ! ” 

“ Hero, you are a great coax.” 

“ I know I am, and I always mean to succeed. 
I was not named after one of Shakespeare’s most 
bewitching heroines for nothing.” 

“ I don’t believe you^were, you extraordinary girl. 
I think, on the whole, I shall be able to go.” 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

THE LEADING SERIAL IN THE PALM BRANCH. 

Hero was much excited about Barbara’s dress. The 
grey silk happened to be nearly new, and was of a 
very soft, becoming colour. Barbara’s figure and 
Hero’s were so nearly alike that each could wear 
the other’s clothes ; but the hat was the puzzle. 
Gloves must also be got, pretty and suitable ruffles 
of lace, neat boots — in short, the ordinary etceteras 
which make up the dress of a girl who goes into 
society. Hero was determined not to worry Barbara 
about it, but the thought of these clothes clouded her 
own bright little face, and on Wednesday morning 
Mrs. Jennings noticed the change. 

“ What is it Hero ; something is putting you out } ’ 

“ I am thinking about Barbara ; I cannot dress 
her to my mind.” 

‘*If that is all ” began Mrs. Jennings. 

‘*No, dear, you must not go on,” said Hero im- 
pulsively. “ Barbara would be furious if you offered 
what I know, in the kindness of your heart, you 
think of doing. No, she must be dressed out of our 
own money ; but I am so anxious that she should 
look nice.” 

Is she a pretty girl, my love ? ” 

“ Well, I, of course, think that she has the dearest 
and nicest face in the world. She is very intelligent- 
looking and very much out of the common, but I 
don’t suppose, strictly speaking, that she is exactly 
a beauty.” 


238 Merry Girls of England, 

“ Is she dark or fair ? ” 

“ Oh, very dark ; she has big, beautiful eyes and 
a splendid broad forehead. Of course, she is some- 
what sallow in complexion, particularly since she 
came to live in London, and she is also at a rather 
awkward age ; but, if she were properly dressed, I 
don’t think anyone in the room would compare 
with her.” 

“ Well, Hero, what does she particularly want ? 
You may as well confide in me.” 

A new hat, for one thing, and nice lace — good real 
lace to put round her neck ; proper gloves to wear, 
and neat little shoes. Oh, dear, it is a worry not to 
have any money of one’s own ! ” 

“ I could not help thinking lately,” said Mrs. 
Jennings, after a pause, “ how very silly I was to 
buy all that new lace for myself, when I have got 
no end of valuable lace in an old trunk in the attic 
upstairs.” 

“ Have you, Mrs. Jennings — real lace? ” 

“ Beautiful lace, my love. I have also a great 
many ostrich feathers. I used to go into society a 
good deal years and years ago. When I gave it up, 
I got rid of most of my fine things, but I remember 
taking the feathers out of several hats and bonnets, 
and putting the lace away. Hero, suppose I were 
to give you the key of that trunk, and suppose ” 

“ Yes ? ” said Hero, her eyes sparkling. 

Mrs. Jennings put her hand into her pocket and 
took out the key. 

Hero took it without a word. Then she burst 
into the gayest of laughs. 

“ I quite understand,” she exclaimed. “ I will 
borrow for Barbara, and Barbara shall never know.” 

She left the drawing-room eagerly, ran upstairs, 
found the old trunk in the disused attic, opened it, 


Leading Serial in “ The Palm Branch^ 239 

and took out enough suitable lace and one or two 
splendid long black ostrich feathers. 

With the feathers made into a small parcel, she 
sallied forth to the nearest milliner. 

“ I want to see a broad, plain black hat,” she said 

The woman showed her one. 

“ I want you to trim it, please, with these feathers, 
and to curl them, too, a little. They are worth a 
great deal of money, are they not ? ” 

“They are splendid feathers, madam,” answered 
the woman ; “ they will make the hat look beautiful.” 

“ How soon can it be finished ? ” 

“It can go home to-day, madam. Where shall 
I send it ? ” 

Hero gave the humble address in Bloomsbury, 
and then, finding she had enough money in her purse 
to buy pretty grey gloves, the exact colour of the 
silk dress, and a neat pair of shoes with steel buckles, 
she ordered these also to be sent to the flat. 

When she returned to Mrs. Jennings’s drawing- 
room, she made up ruffles for Barbara’s neck and 
wrists, and took them home with her that night. 

Accordingly, when Thursday dawned, a dress was 
provided for Barbara in all respects suitable for a 
young girl of her age and station. 

“ What a really pretty hat,” she said, noticing the 
droop of the splendid feathers. “ I hope. Hero, it did 
not cost a great deal.” 

“ Dear me, no ; it was as cheap as possible,” said 
Hero, choking back the laughter which was bubbling 
up in her throat. “ Now, Babs, sit down ; I want 
to arrange your hair.” 

“ Oh, do leave my old locks alone,” said Barbara, 
almost impatiently. “You don’t know how I hate 
having my hair pulled about.” 

“ I shall insist on its being done fashionably,” said 


240 Merry Girls of England, 

Hero. “You wear it so flat to your head. You 
know you have got lovely hair, and quantities of it. 
Here, sit down ; no more remonstrances ! Remember 
this is my party.” 

“I feel almost sorry that I am going,” said 
Barbara. “ I don’t know why I am nervous ; I have 
been nervous for some little time lately.” 

“You will be all right when your book is pub- 
lished. Oh, how I long for it ! And you will send 
Rosamond a copy, will you not ? ” 

“ Do you know. Hero,” said Barbara, turning 
round to face her friend as she spoke — “ do you know 
that on the very day the book is published the three 
months will be up ? I promised faithfully to write to 
Rosamond at the end of three months to tell her 
if the experiment had turned out a success or a 
failure.” 

“ Of course, it has turned out a big success,” said 
Hero. “ I am as happy as possible ; and you ought 
to be, Barbara, if you are not. I wonder,” she added, 
a tinge of anxiety coming into her voice, “what 
Rosamond will do when she really knows where we 
are? Will she insist on going to see Grannie? And 
will Grannie send for me to return to the Hall? 
Oh, Barbara dear, I could never stand the dreadful 
dull, aimless life at the Hall again ! ” 

Barbara sighed, and did not reply. Her thoughts 
were evidently far away. After a time she made a 
grimace. 

“Hero, do you like me with that great lump 
sticking out at the back of my head ? ” 

“ It is fashionable,” said Hero. “ One must 
sacrifice something to fashion. Your hair is beauti- 
fully done. I think I have quite a turn for hair- 
dressing. Now, I am going to fluff it out a little bit 
round your forehead.” 


Leading Serial in ^^The Palm BranchL 241 

“ I won’t have it curled, Hero ; that I do draw the 
line at ! ” 

“Well, well, I suppose I must please you. Now, 
try on the hat.” 

The large black hat with its splendid feathers was 
all that was becoming. The grey dress, also, was 
transformed with its ruffles of beautiful lace. The 
grey gloves covered Barbara’s somewhat bony hands ; 
the shoes fitted her feet to perfection. 

“ And now, here is my last and greatest surprise,” 
said Hero, bringing forward a lovely bunch of 
scarlet geraniums. “ Y ou are to pin those here,” she 
said. “ I bought them for you out of my own money 
this morning. Now, if you don’t look just every bit 
as nice as anybody else at Mrs. Jennings’s, my name 
is not Hero Chevening ! ” 

I'he girls drove to the entertainment in a hansom. 
They arrived a little before the rest of the guests, and 
Hero ushered her friend upstairs, her heart beating 
quickly as she did so. 

“ I only hope Mrs. Jennings won’t like you better 
than me,” she said, as she pushed open the door. 
“But, after all, I forgot, it is not Mrs. Jennings we 
have to consider, but the dogs. Here they come. 
Now then, Pet, stand back this minute ! No jumping 
at me, remember. Duke, your paw, please.” 

Duke held out his paw in a most regal manner. 
Pet stood back, snarling a little and showing his 
teeth as he regarded Barbara. The other dogs 
behaved better. Barbara was then brought forward 
to be introduced to Mrs. Jennings, who in her rich 
grey silk, seated in her favourite arm-chair, looked as 
sweet as old lady could look. She talked very kindly 
to Barbara, who sat on a low stool near her, and soon 
forgot all her shyness in the interest which Mrs. 
Jennings began to create. 

P 


242 Merry Girls of England. 

Soon Dawson and the new parlourmaid appeared 
with the tea, and Hero jumped up to get everything 
into perfect order. Then the pealing of the front-door 
bell was heard through the house, and a moment 
later Mr. and Mrs. Charles — an elderly, good- 
humoured, ordinary couple — made their appearance 
They were delighted to see Mrs. Jennings, and seated 
themselves one on each side of the little old lady. 
After the first glance they took no special notice 
of Hero and Barbara, and the girls retired to the 
background to talk together, until the door was once 
more opened and Miss Clarkson was announced. 

When she entered the room, Barbara gave a most 
perceptible start. A flood of colour rushed into her 
cheeks, leaving them the next moment ghastly pale. 
It needed but one frightened glance to show her that 
Miss Clarkson was the lady who used to .sit by her 
side day after day at the British Museum. Her 
heart beat wildly ; then it seemed almost to stop. 

“ Babs, what is the matter } You look ill. Is the 
room too hot ? ” asked Hero. 

“ Take no notice of me, Hero ; I shall be all right 
in a moment. I’ll just go to the other end of the 
room,” said Barbara. 

She rose and walked to the far end of the 
drawing-room. Mrs. Jennings’s voice, however, 
somewhat shrill and piercing, followed her into her 
retirement. 

“ Miss Underhill, come here, my dear. I am 
particularly anxious to introduce you to my great 
friend. Miss Clarkson. Miss Clarkson, you will be 
interested in this young girl when I tell you that, 
child as she looks, she has not only written a book, 
but that it is about to be published in a few days.” 

“ I am much interested, of course,” said Miss 
Clarkson. 


Leading Serial in '"-The Palm Branch.'’ 243 

As she spoke she raised her eyes and gave Barbara 
an attentive glance. Instantly she recognised her. 

“ Why, I know you ! ” she exclaimed. “ You have 
been my neighbour for weeks past at the British 
Museum. Let us find chairs and have a long chat. 
I am very glad to make your acquaintance.” 

Miss Clarkson rose, and Barbara was forced to 
follow her. The elder lady sat down on a small sofa 
in the inner drawing-room, and made room for her 
young companion by her side. Barbara felt as if she 
were in a dream. 

“Now,” said Miss Clarkson, “we can have a real 
cosy talk. I have often wondered what you were 
doing when you worked so hard day after day. You 
looked so much younger, and — forgive me ! — so much 
more enthusiastic than most of the readers at the 
Museum. Do you remember when I spoke to you at 
the buffet one day ? And can you recall when I 
dropped that sheet of my manuscript ? ” 

Barbara bowed her head. Yes, she could recall 
everything. She remembered the time, she knew the 
incident of the lost page. 

Just then Hero appeared in sight. 

“ What a pretty girl ! ” exclaimed Miss Clarkson. 
“ Is she a friend of yours ? ” 

“ My greatest friend in the world. Her name is 
Hero Chevening,” answered Barbara, somewhat 
eagerly. She was only too glad to turn the 
conversation from herself. 

“ Chevening ? ” repeated Miss Clarkson, in a 
meditative and interested voice. “I once knew 
someone of that name. Of course, it cannot be any 
relation ; but the name is an uncommon one.” 

Her brows became knit in an anxious frown. 

“She is a beautiful girl,” she repeated, “and she 

reminds me ” 

P 2 


244 Merry Girls of England. 

Barbara did not say anything, she was not inter- 
ested in Miss Clarkson’s reminiscences, all her 
thoughts were turned on herself and on the book 
which was so soon to appear. 

Hero brought some tea and cake, said a few 
words to Miss Clarkson, and then went back to 
attend to the other guests. 

“ About that page of manuscript,” continued Miss 
Clarkson, as she sipped her tea, and turned her large, 
dreamy, thoughtful eyes full upon Barbara’s face. 

“ I hope you did not miss it,” said Barbara. 

“ I re-wrote it, as I think I told you. The loss 
worried me at the time, for the page was an im- 
portant one. In it I first introduced the great idea of 
my novel. Now, please tell me about your own book.” 

“ I have nothing to tell,” answered Barbara; “it is 
a girl’s first book.” 

“ But you have found a publisher for it ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ May I ask the name } ” 

“ It was partly through Mr. Mason, of the Reading 
Room,” continued Barbara, flushing and trembling, 
and then feeling as if something impelled her to 
speak. “He read my manuscript — it was not very 
long — then he gave me an introduction to his friend, 
Mr. Parkinson.” 

“You don’t mean Mr. Parkinson, the publisher 
in Cheapside ? Is he going to bring out your book ? ” 
interrupted Miss Clarkson in astonishment. 

“ Yes.” 

“ Do you know, my dear, that you have made a 
great success } ” 

“ Have I ? Of course I ought to be very glad. 
Mr. Parkinson was kind — he told me, by the way, 
that he is just issuing a new monthly.” 

“ I know all about that ; I am writing for it.” 


Leading Serial in ^^The Palm Branch** 245 

“ Are you ? ” answered Barbara. “ How inter- 
esting ! ** 

May I ask, Miss Underhill, if your story is to 
appear in T/ie Palm Branch f ” 

“ Mr. Parkinson says it would not be suitable ; it 
is to come out as a book.” 

“ Well, my dear, I heartily congratulate you. Mr. 
Parkinson must think a great deal of your story, or 
he would not bring it out in that way. I shall read 
your book with pleasure when it docs appear.” 

“ Oh, please don’t ; I would much rather you 
did not.” 

“ Why so ? Of course I shall read it. Is it to 
be published this year ? ” 

“ It will be out in about a week,” said Barbara, 
colouring, and then turning white. 

“ Well, I hope the reviewers will be kind to you, 
my dear young lady ; but, whether they are or not, 
please take the opinion of an old woman, and don’t 
mind a single word they say. When I was young, 
and my first book appeared, I remember I used to 
shut myself up in my room for a whole day when I 
received an adverse criticism. Now, I assure you, 
I don’t give the critics a thought. As a rule, they 
know very much less than the writers whom they 
condemn ; indeed, I believe that many of them are 
only unsuccessful authors themselves. However, 
that is neither here nor there. What is one man’s 
food is another man’s poison, and that we see in the 
case of reviewers more and more plainly every day. 
Don’t fret over-much, my dear, if the critics slang 
you, and don’t be over-elated if they praise you. The 
public are the real test, Miss Underhill. If the public 
like your book, they will read it ; and if they read it, 
they will buy it ; and if they buy it, and if your book 
sells— why then, if you want money, you will have it.” 


246 Merry Girls of England. 

“Of course, I want money — very badly indeed,” 
answered Barbara. 

Miss Clarkson looked her all over from head to 
foot. 

“ Do you live alone in London,” she asked, “ or 
with your parents 1 ” 

“ I live with Hero Chevening ; we have a little flat 
between us,” answered Barbara. 

“ How interesting ! I wonder if you would allow 
me to come to see you ? ” 

“ I should be delighted, of course, but ” Barbara 

hesitated, and looked confused. 

“ I know what you mean. You are very busy all 
day. I won’t come to see you first ; you shall come 
to me. Will you spend next Sunday with me ? ” 

“ I am afraid it is impossible,” answered Barbara. 
She half rose from her seat, and then sat down again. 

“ Why so } You surely do not work on Sunday? ” 

“ No, but ” — Barbara’s lips quivered — “ please 
don’t think me nasty,” she continued ; “ I really don’t 
mean to be ; but I made up my mind, when I came 
to town, that I would devote myself to work, and 
v;ork only, and Sunday is the only day which I have 
with Hero.” 

“ But your pretty friend shall come too. Do you 
know that I have a great sympathy for girls like you? 
I am devoted to work myself, and quite understand 
enthusiasm in others. Miss Underhill, you will for- 
give me, you are overdoing it.” 

“ I don’t think so,” answered Barbara. 

“ But I know better. Why are there such heavy 
lines under your eyes, and why do you look so down- 
cast ? ” 

Barbara’s lips trembled ; she had the greatest 
difficulty in keeping her composure. 

“ Now, I tell you what,” said Miss Clarkson ; “ 1 


Leading Serial in ** The Palm BranchT 247 

shall insist upon a visit, I will take no denial. Ah, 
there you are. Miss Chevening ; please come here for 
a moment.” 

“Yes, what is it? ” asked Hero, skipping forward. 

“ Miss Chevening, I want you to help me. I am 
anxious that your friend. Miss Underhill, and you 
also, should spend next Sunday with me. Miss 
Underhill refuses on the plea that she has got so 
much work to do.” 

“It is true; you know it is true, Hero,” said 
Barbara in a voice of agony. 

“ But if she works like this she will be ill,” said 
Miss Clarkson. “ Now if you and she will come to 
me, you shall have a nice long, quiet day, and I can 
give her a good deal of advice and some hints as well. 
You see, she and I are in the same profession ; we 
ought to be friends, ought we not ? I want you to 
persuade her to come.” 

“ Of course, I shall insist on her coming,” said 
Hero with a laugh. “ Miss Clarkson, leave it to me ; 
we will both appear next Sunday at your house. 
Yes, Barbara, there is no use in your frowning at me.” 

“ That is a very nice girl,” said Miss Clarkson, as 
Hero flew off, “ and what a likeness ! But now, my 
dear Miss Underhill, to turn to yourself. You have 
been good enough to confide in me, although I see 
you have done so a little unwillingly. Now I will 
tell you about my own work. I am completing the 
novel which you saw me working at for the last few 
weeks at the British Museum. Mr. Parkinson will 
receive the entire manuscript next week, and then I 
am going away for a long holiday.” 

“You have written a novel,” faltered Barbara, 
“ and you are sending it to — to Mr. Parkinson ? ” 

“ Yes ; it is to be the leading serial in his new 
monthly, The Palm Branch. I flatter myself that 


24B Merry Girls of England. 

I have introduced a completely new idea, and 

Oh, but. Miss Underhill, this will never do ; you are 
quite faint.” 

“ The room is hot,” answered Barbara. “ If you 
will excuse me, I will go out on the landing. Please 
don’t say a word to Hero ; please do not follow me. 
I shall be all right when I am alone.” 

The miserable girl managed, how she never knew, 
to totter out of the room. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

TWO RUNAWAYS. 

Early the following morning, just after Mrs. Jennings 
had come down to her drawing-room, the parlour- 
maid threw open the door and announced Miss 
Clarkson. 

Miss Clarkson came eagerly up to the old lady. 

“ I cannot tell you with what pleasure I renewed 
our acquaintance yesterday,” she said. “ And now I 
am anxious to see you by yourself. Would it be 
possible for you to give me a few moments quite 
alone.?” 

“ Certainly,” answered Mrs. Jennings. “ My little 
companion, Hero Chevening, is out at this moment 
with the dogs ; she will not be back for quite half an 
hour.” 

“ Then that is capital,” said Miss Clarkson, 
drawing her chair close to Mrs. Jennings’s. “Do 
you know, I have been thinking about you all night.” 

“ That was very kind of you, Sylvia,” said Mrs. 
Jennings. 

“ Ah ! ” exclaimed Miss Clarkson, “ it is refreshing 


Two Runaways. 


249 

to hear myself called once again by my Christian 
name.” 

“You were good to me,” continued Mrs. Jennings, 
laying her wrinkled hand upon her friend’s arm, “ but 
there were years when I could not bring myself to 
see you, when I felt as if I could never face the 
world again. Now the revolution in this house and 
in my ways must astonish you.” 

“ The revolution amazes, but it also delights me,” 
said Miss Clarkson. 

“ It is, every scrap of it, owing to that extra- 
ordinary child. Hero Chevening.” 

“ You bring me to the point when you speak of 
her,” said Miss Clarkson. “ Am I to understand that 
that charming little girl is nothing more nor less than 
your ordinary companion } ” 

“ My companion ? Bless her ! ” exclaimed Mrs. 
Jennings, “she is, indeed, far more than that. She 
is my ray of sunshine, my delight. She has turned 
my old age into a season of rejoicing — a land of 
Beulah. You understand, do you not, Sylvia.?” 

“ I hope I do,” answered Miss Clarkson. “ I am 
not as old as you, my dear friend, but I also am 
getting on in years ; I shall be sixty my next 
birthday.” 

“ And I am over eighty ; but I feel young since 
that child came into the house.” 

“ Well, you occupied a great many of my thoughts 
last night,” continued Miss Clarkson, “ what with the 
memory of you and the old times, and the queer 
coincidence that you should have Hero Chevening 
absolutely staying in the house with you, and then 
my interview with that uncommon, overworked girl, 
Barbara Underhill.” 

“ Oh ! as to Barbara Underhill,” replied Mrs. 
Jennings, the intere^ dying out of her voice, “she 


250 Merry Girls or England. 

is only the girl with whom my Hero lives. They 
have taken a little flat together. So girlish and 
end of the century, is it not ? ” 

“ Fin de siecle is the right word,” said Miss Clark- 
son, with a smile. 

“ Well, we need not go into that now, need we, 
old friend ? ” 

“ I am much interested in Barbara Underhill, 
because I am certain she is a very clever girl ; but 
she is alone, and very inexperienced. She is over- 
working herself, and for some strange reason she is 
terribly unhappy.” 

“ I did not notice her particularly,” said Mrs. 
Jennings. “ I thought,” she added, “that you wanted 
to speak to me about Hero.” 

“ So I do, presently ; but I, on my part, am deeply 
interested in Barbara. Like me, she is an author, 
or is about to become one. She is not only going 
to publish a book, but the publisher is no other 
than my dear old friend, Mr. Parkinson.” 

“ Indeed,” said Mrs. Jennings, suppressing a 
yawn. “You will excuse me, Sylvia, but I know 
very little about the publishing world.” 

“True, dear; I forgot that. Well, I will not 
weary you about Barbara just now. To come 
to the real object of my visit, I want you to 
tell me all you know about your little friend, 
Hero.” 

“ My dear Sylvia, it is no use; you are not going 
to get her from me. I have no doubt you would 
like her as a companion, or an amanuensis, or what- 
ever you call it, but you have not the slightest chance 
of obtaining her services. We may as well be frank 
on that point from the first.” 

“ Certainly, my dear friend, and I would not 
deprive you of her for a moment. What I wish to 


Two Runaways. 


251 

know IS this, what Chevening is she ? Has she 
anything to do with ? ” 

“ Oh no, no, nothing whatever,” said Mrs. Jennings, 
holding up one of her hands with a look of keen 
distress. 

“ Are you certain ? ” 

“ My dear Sylvia, I am certain. The child came 
to me a couple of months ago, and offered her services 
for the ridiculous sum of a pound a week. Yes, 
fancy that dear, bright, angelic creature, who has 
changed my whole life, only gets a pound a week 
for her invaluable services. But, of course, she has 
nothing whatever to do with the Chevenings of 
Chevening Hall.” 

“It seems strange to me,” said Miss Clarkson, 
speaking slowly, and with a very thoughtful look 
on her face, “it seems very strange that Alexis 
Chevening’s daughter should have come to this ? ” 

“ What do you mean ? ” 

“She must be his daughter, for she has such a 
remarkable look of him.” 

“ Hero has a look of Alexis Chevening ? ” said 
Mrs. Jennings. 

“My dear, where are your eyes? It is most re- 
markable. The same expression, the same beautiful 
mouth, only sweeter and firmer, that merry glance, 
that manner at once so captivating and so innocent ; 
but I need not talk further. You, my dear Mrs. 
Jennings, know what Alexis was when he was 
young.” 

“Yes, dear Sylvia, none better. Come a little 
closer to me, Sylvia. Do you know that Alexis 
is coming here next week ? ” 

“ Is he truly ? Then, of course, he will recognise 
his daughter.” 

“Dear Sylvia, you were always one to take up 


252 Merry Girls of England 

strange ideas ; the child has nothing whatever to 
do with him. She was introduced to me by a 
tiresome, commonplace girl of the name of Lucy 
Tregunter — the daughter of rich people who took a 
house in the Square for the season. Miss Tregunter 
liappened to call, and discovered that I wanted a com- 
panion in a hurry. She told me she knew a girl who 
she thought would suit me, and then she sent me that 
dear, bright little soul. As to poor Alexis’s daughter, 
of course she lives down in the country with her 
grandmother. I often have wondered how the poor 
child was reared. You know, when I saw her last, 
she was quite a baby. Then came all the dreadful 
trouble, and Alexis had to leave London, and his 
poor wife — oh ! do not let us talk of those times, 
it is too much for me. In one thing, at least, Sylvia, 
I know you arc wrong ; my little Hero has nothing 
whatever to do with Alexis’s daughter.” 

Miss Clarkson did not say a word for a moment — 
then she slowly took from the depths of her pocket a 
worn leather case, out of which she extracted a letter. 

“ The moment I saw the child yesterday,” she said, 
“ I was struck by the intangible likeness. When I 
heard her name, I immediately connected the likeness 
with Alexis Chevening. Chevening is an uncommon 
name; Hero, for a girl, is a still more uncommon name. 
Don’t you remember what a passion Alexis had for 
Shakespeare and Shakespeare’s heroines? Now, my 
dear Mrs. Jennings, this letter was received by me 
. exactly thirteen years ago. The letter itself does not 
greatly matter, but this sentence surely does.” 

As she spoke the good lady read aloud the follow- 
ing words — 

“ My dear wife is dead, and will not know of all 
these dark times ; but when I think of my poor baby. 
Hero, my heart is completely broken.” 


Two Runaways. 


253 


Mrs. Jennings grew somewhat pale. 

“ Show me the words,” she said. 

Miss Clarkson pointed them out to her. She read 
them over slowly to herself. 

“ ‘ My poor baby, Hero,’ ” she repeated. 

“You know,” continued Miss Clarkson, hastily 
folding up the letter and putting it back into her 
pocket-book, “ that Alexis did leave a child who went 
to live with her grandmother; he speaks of her in this 
letter under the name of Hero. Is it likely that there 
are two Hero Chevenings in the world ? ” 

“ No, it is not likely,” said Mrs. Jennings after a 
long pause. “If this is the case — why, it will be in 
my power to do something, something to make 
up to that child for what she has done for me, 
for what her father has done for me. Please, Sylvia, 
have the goodness to leave me ; your news has 
shaken me considerably, and I have much, very 
much to think over.” 

Miss Clarkson went away at once ; she had plenty 
of tact, and knew by instinct that the object of her 
visit was accomplished. 

When Hero came in with the dogs, Mrs. Jennings 
stared at her a good deal, but scarcely spoke. 

“ Are you tired ? ” asked Hero. 

“ No, my dear love. Hero, I want to have a little 
talk with you.” 

Hero sat down with a slight sigh. 

“ Why do you sigh, darling ? Is anything the 
matter ? ” 

“ I only sigh because I am happy ; I did enjoy 
myself so much yesterday.” 

“ Mr. and Mrs. Charles took a fancy to you. Hero ; 
they have asked you to go and see them some after- 
noon. But not to-day, my darling ; I want you all to 
myself to-day.” 


254 


Merry Girls of EnCiLAND. 


“ I would not leave you for the world to-day,” 
answered Hero ; “you seem sad about something.” 

“ I don’t know that I am really sad. Come and 
sit close to me ; I have a great deal to talk about. 
Hero, you are not in any sense of the word an 
ordinary companion to me.” 

“ I do hope you are not going to send me away,” 
said Hero. 

“ Child, you must know better. I think it would 
break my heart to part with you. No, I want to tell 
you something.” 

“ Tell me anything, Mrs. Jennings,” said Hero, 
raising her blue eyes and fixing them on her friend’s 
face. 

“ You have made me a different woman, my love ; 
you have turned my life into sunshine ; you have 
stirred something within me which ” — Mrs. Jennings’s 
eyes filled with tears — “which I used to think was 
dead. Hero, I used to think my heart was dead, but 
I find now that it is alive ; it beats in my breast ; I 
feel better, stronger, more energetic for your bright 
influence. But, Hero dear, you have never told me 
anything about your own life.” 

“ There is nothing ” began Hero restlessly. 

“ You must have some story, dearest.” 

“ I would rather not tell,” said Hero, then lowering 
her voice. 

“ Not to me, to the one who loves you so dearly } ’ 

“ All right, Mrs. Jennings ; then you shall know. I 
don’t think you will betray me. I am young, not 
quite sixteen. Barbara and I live in a little flat to- 
gether. When first Barbara and I came to London 
she brought some money with her ; the money was hers, 
not mine. It soon got spent ; then I came to you, and 
you are paying me, and now Barbara will earn money 
by her books ; we shall get on all right in the future.” 


Two Runaways. 


255 


You are not telling me everything, Piero. I 
want to know about the time before you came to 
live in London.” 

“ I would much rather not speak about that time,’ 
said P^ero. 

“ But if I particularly wish it, my love ? ” 

Hero lowered her eyes, her face was downcast. 

Mrs. Jennings noticed the mobile and expressive 
little face, the long lashes, the straight nose, the firm, 
sweet lips. 

Hero sprang suddenly to her feet. 

“ There is no real secret,” she said. “ The fact is, 
I used to live in the country ; I was not very, I was 
not at all happy there, and Barbara and I determined 
— oh, I know you’ll hate me for telling it to you, but, 
after all, I suppose you must know — and you won’t 
betray me } I know you won’t betray me. We are 
two runaways, Barbara and I. We both of us ran 
away from home ; our people do not know where we 
are. We are, both of us, living in London unknown 
to our own people.” 

Hero, a girl like you to do that ! ” 

“ I see what you think of me,” answered Hero. 
Her eyes filled with tears ; they ran down her 
cheeks. 

Mrs. Jennings laid one of her wrinkled old hands 
on the young girl’s arm. 

“ It is impossible for me to think anything very 
bad of you,” she replied. As you have told me so 
much, you may as well tell me everything. Now I 
am going on my part to ask you a very direct 
question. Once, long ago, I knew a little girl. Her 
name was also Hero Chevening, and she ” 

“ Did the Hero Chevening you knew long, long 
ago, go to live at Chevening Hall ? ” asked Hero, her 
face turning first red and then white. 


256 Merry Girls of England. 

“ Yes, my love ; she went to live with my very old 
friend, Mrs. Chevening, her grandmother.” 

“Then I am that girl,” answered Hero. 

She flung herself on her knees beside her friend 
and buried her face in her lap. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

“I MAY EVEN BE SENT TO PRISON.” 

“This is very wonderful news to me,” said Mrs. 
Jennings, “and I may as well tell you at once. Hero, 
that it is likely to affect your whole future life. I am 
not able to tell you any more on the subject to-day, 
except to say that at one time I knew your grand- 
mother well ; I also knew your father and mother.” 

“ Are my father and mother alive, Mrs. Jennings } ” 

“ Your mother — poor, sweet young soul — has been 
long in her grave ; your father is alive. My dear, I 
cannot say anything more at present. Get a book, and 
read to yourself ; I have a great deal to think over.” 

Hero retired into the back part of the drawing- 
room. She also was too excited to read. What did 
it all mean ? what wonderful change was coming into 
her life ? 

She felt strangely excited, but she also owned to a 
sense of relief that Mis. Jennings at last shared her 
secret. 

By-and-by the time arrived for her to return to 
the flat in Bloomsbury. There she found Barbara, 
looking flushed and ill, lying back in the one easy- 
chair which the little sitting-room possessed. 

“ Are the proofs all through, Bab .? ” asked Hero, 
going up to her friend with great eagerness. 



i 



‘“herd, . . . I AM A failure’” (/• 25 





“/ May Even be Sent to Prison!^ 257 

“ No ; I am not quite certain that I am going on 
with them,” answered Barbara. 

“ What can you mean, Bab ? You look very queer.” 

“ I feel ill,” answered Barbara. “ You know how 
badly my head has ached for a long time ; well, it 
aches more than ever to-day, and I am so confused 
and giddy that I can scarcely turn my attention to 
my work. And oh. Hero, the worst of it all is that I 
begin to hate my own work. After all, what is a 
book ? We think a great deal of it before it is 
published ; but when it is about -to appear, it suddenly 
seems such a small and insignificant thing.” 

“ But, Barbara, this book has been the one dream 
of your life ! ” 

“ I suppose it has,” answered Barbara. “ But I feel 
queer to-day ; I don't know myself.” She pressed her 
hand to her forehead, and looked around her in a 
distracted way. 

“ Hero,” she said, springing suddenly to her feet, 
“ I must confess something — I am a failure, I have 
made the most awful mess of everything.” 

“ How can you talk such nonsense,” said Hero, 
almost angrily, “ when your book is just coming out ? ” 

“ Don’t mention the book just now. You must go 
by yourself to Miss Clarkson’s to-morrow, for I am 
not going with you.” 

“ Why not? She will be dreadfully annoyed.” 

! don’t care ; I don’t want to see her again ; I 

;> to forget her, to forget even that she exists, 
.r, those proofs ought to be finished to-night, 
r v .e book is to appear almost immediately; there 
O’ y the last sheet to do.” 

Suppos ' I read it over?” said Hero. 

No, ycj could not manage; you do not under- 
»on’ talk to me ; I feel a shade better now ; 
I muo. finish it myself, come what may.” 


258 Merry Girls of England, 

Barbara drew up her chair once more to the little 
table, pressed one of her cheeks on her hand, and 
began to correct the last sheet of the forthcoming 
novel. Presently she threw down her pen. 

“ There,” she said, “ it is done. My brain could 
not have stood the strain another moment.” 

“ Shall I wrap it up for you, and put it in the 
post ? ” asked Hero. 

“ I wonder whether I ought to post it. Hero ; or 
whether it would be best, even at the eleventh hour, 
to give it up ? ” 

“ Really, Barbara, you must be mad.” 

“Perhaps I am!” cried the excited girl. “It 
is my head; it aches so badly. Of course, it is 
too late to stop anything now. Yes, Hero, take 
the proofs to the post for me ; put them into this 
envelope.” 

Hero did so deftly and quickly. 

“ When I come back I shall get tea for you,” she 
said. “While you are drinking your tea I have a 
piece of news on my own account to impart.” 

Barbara did not say a word. 

Hero left the flat. She returned in a few 
moments. The kettle was already boiling ; she 
made some fragrant tea, and gave Barbara a cup. 

“ Now you look better,” said Hero. 

“That is because the Rubicon is crossed,” an- 
swered Barbara ; her eyes were fixed gloomily on the 
little fire which burned brightly in the grate. 

Hero gazed at her in puzzled wonder. 

“When did you say your book was to appear?” 
she asked suddenly. 

“ Next week.” 

“ And this is Saturday — so near ; I wonder you 
are not more excited.” 

“ I am worn out by excitement. Oh, please don’t 


/ May Even be Sent to Prison!* 259 

let us talk about it any more. Hero, after all, you 
don’t understand my temperament.” 

“ Really, Barbara, I am afraid I don’t.” 

“You have been much more lucky than I have 
been. Hero, and yet you also did wrong. It was 
dreadfully wrong of us both — I see it now — it was 
terribly wrong of us to run away from home.” 

“Was it?” asked Hero. She raised her brows, a 
puzzled expression came between her eyes. “And 
yet I have never, never been unhappy about it,” she 
said after a pause. “ I have from the very first 
enjoyed my life here. These last three months have 
been delightful to me. Of course, lately, since you 
have looked really ill, things have not been quite so 
nice; but then I have Mrs. Jennings, and I love her 
dearly. Barbara, I said I had a piece of news for 
you.” 

“ What is it ? ” asked Barbara, in a low, indifferent 
voice. 

“ Mrs. Jennings has found out what Chevening 
I am.” 

“ She knows that you belong to Chevening Hall ? ” 

“ Yes, yes, she knows all about it. She questioned 
me to-day, and I had to let things out; I did not 
want to tell her, but I was forced to. Is not it 
strange? She used to know my father and mother, and 
even Grannie? Mrs. Jennings seemed very much 
startled — she said she had a great deal to think over, 
and that this knowledge might affect my whole life.” 

“I don’t see, after all, that it matters,” said 
Barbara, rising slowly as she spoke. “Hero, I 
think I shall go to bed.’ 

“ Do, pray ; I will come in and see you when 
you are lying down.” 

Barbara crossed the room with the step of an old 
woman. She entered her own bedroom and shut the 
Q 2 


26 o Merry Girls of England. 

door. When she found herself alone, she stood for a 
moment in the middle of the room. 

“ ‘ Be sure thy sin will find thee out ’ ! ” she said 
then, slowly and half aloud. 

There was a startled and terrified expression on 
her face. She pressed both her hands to her brows 
and uttered a groan. 

“ I have acted madly ; everything will be dis- 
covered,” she whispered to herself “ Mr. Parkinson 
is going to publish Miss Clarkson’s novel in The 
Palm Branch. The central idea of my story and 
the central idea of hers are the same. He will know 
— oh, he will know — and the world will know ! What 
am I to do } What am I to do ? And now he has 
gone to the expense of putting my book through the 
press ! Oh, can I ever be forgiven ? I may even be 
sent to prison for this ! Oh, what an awful scrape 
I have got into ! Oh, my head, my head ! Oh, if 
I con/d only live over again the last miserable weeks ! 
What a wretched, wicked, wicked girl I am ! ” 

She flung herself on her bed ; her thoughts were 
now too confused to enable her to follow for long any 
consecutive line of reasoning. 


CHAPTER XXVIL 

PAGE FORTY-EIGHT ONCE AGAIN. 

Meanwhile Rosamond was becoming more and 
more restless. The thought of Barbara pressed upon 
her mind day and night. At last she could stand 
her feelings no longer, and went one morning to see 
Mr. Johnson. 

“ I cannot wait to get news of Barbara,” she 


Page Forty-eight Once Again. 261 

said, looking full up into that gentleman’s face. 
“ She promised faithfully to let me know about 
herself at the end of three months, and the three 
months are nearly up ; but I have had the strangest 
feeling of late — I cannot account for it — I am 
certain that Barbara is very unhappy. Anyhow, 
I have made up my mind to find her, if possible, 
without a moment’s longer delay. Can you help 
me ? ” 

Mr. Johnson shook his head. 

“ I wish I could,” he answered, “ but I do not 
know your sister’s address.” 

“ I thought, perhaps, she had written to you for 
more money.” 

“ I have not had a line from her since she left. 
I am very sorry. Miss Rosamond.” 

Rosamond’s face turned white. The lawyer gave 
her a long glance, then, suddenly, his own expression 
brightened. 

“ By the way,” he exclaimed, “ you know Miss 
Tregunter, don’t you.?” 

“ Lucy Tregunter .? ” cried Rosamond. “ I scarcely 
know her, but she used to be a great friend of 
Barbara’s.” 

“ So I thought. Her father is one of my clients. 
He was here yesterday, so I know that the Tregunters 
are at home at present. Lucy might possibly be able 
to give you information about your sister.” 

“ So she might,” answered Rosamond. “ I’ll go 
to see her immediately.” 

She left Mr. Johnson’s house, and went to the part 
of the town where Lucy lived. That young lady was 
at home, and, after a very short catechism, Rosamond 
succeeded in getting Barbara’s address from her. 

“ As you ask for it, there is no earthly reason 
why I should withhold it from you,” said Lucy. “ I 


2(52 


Merry Girls of England. 


never, for my part, approved of your sister going 
off in that wholesale fashion. But, I assure you, you 
need not be the least bit anxious about her. I saw 
her when I was in town, and, from all I can hear, 
she seems to be doing really well. Then as to her 
friend Miss Chevening — oh, of course, Miss Chevening 
is with her — she has got, through my instrumentality, 
a capital post as companion to a lady in Eaton 
Square.” 

“ Thank you for Barbara’s address,” replied Rosa- 
mond, with a grave smile. 

She was about to leave the room, when Lucy 
called after her. 

“ They tell me that you are really succeeding with 
that wonderful farm of yours,” she exclaimed. 

“Yes, thank you ; we are doing nicely.” 

“ I am glad to hear it ; I think you are very 
plucky. Well, do not be anxious about your sister.” 

Rosamond smiled again, but did not say anything 
more. She soon afterwards left the house, and that 
night took the train to London. 

Accordingly, very early on a certain Sunday 
morning, there came a knock at the door of Barbara’s 
and Hero’s little flat, and when Hero opened it, with 
a face full of consternation she saw Rosamond stand- 
ing without. 

“ Oh, Rose,” she cried, her face completely altering 
in expression, and the relief in her eyes causing them 
fairly to dance, “what good angel has sent you here 
now } ” 

“ I have come to see Barbara ; I know, by your 
face, that there is something wrong,” said Rosamond, 
in alarm. 

“ I am afraid there is ; do come in at once. Rose. 
Yes, Barbara is ill. I cannot imagine what is the 
matter. She seemed very unlike herself last night 


Page Forty-eight Once Again. 263 

before she went to bed, and now she scarcely knows 
anyone. She keeps on repeating over and over the 
same words : ‘ Don’t let the book be published — 
don’t let the book be published.’ Oh, Rosamond, 
I am afraid she has worked too hard. Rose, dear 
Rose, what will you think of me } ” 

“I think nothing bad of you, Hero,” answered 
Rosamond, “but I must see Barbara without a 
moment’s delay.” 

There was a determined, almost stern, light in her 
usually kind eyes. She took off her hat and jacket, 
and prepared to go into Barbara’s room. 

“ Let me see her alone,” she said. “ I would 
rather go to her quite by myself.” 

“ I will wait for you in the sitting-room until you 
come back,” answered Hero. 

Rosamond opened the door which divided the 
sitting-room from the bedroom, and went in. The 
room felt close and hot ; the window was shut ; 
there was little or no ventilation. Even before she 
glanced at her sister, Rosamond went straight to 
the window and flung it wide open. She then 
approached the bedside. 

Barbara was lying with her eyes shut, a deep flush 
of fever on either cheek, a frown between her dark 
brows. Rosamond knelt down by her side. A bottle 
of eau-de-cologne lay on a table near. Rosamond 
poured some into a basin, mixed it with water, and 
then, taking out her own handkerchief, wetted it in 
the liquid, and laid the cool, fresh restorative on 
Barbara’s hot brow. Then, for the first time, the 
thick lashes were raised, and the dark eyes looked 
full at Rosamond. 

Barbara was too ill to show the least surprise at 
her sister’s presence. 

“Has the new cow come, Rose?” she said slowly. 


264 Merry Girls of England. 

“ And did you call it Cowslip ? I recommended 
Cowslip as a nice name, did I not ?” 

“Yes, darling,” answered Rosamond in a whisper. 

“ And how many chicks has Clementcy got now ? ” 

“Too many to count, Barbara. Bab, I have come 
to take you back. I want you to return with me to 
the beautiful country.” 

“The beautiful country?” echoed Barbara, in a 
puzzled voice. “But I am in the country. Rather 
tired of it, too ; and this bird’s-nest bedroom is — is so 
stifling. What is the matter with you. Rose ? Why 
do you look at me with such a queer expression ? 
Oh, now I remember. I am not in the country ; I 
am in London. I don’t like London ; I hate it. 
Rose, I have made a mess of everything. .Rose, I 
have failed — I have failed utterly. Oh, can you 
forgive me — can you ever forgive me ? ” 

“Whatever you have done, I fully and completely 
forgive you,” answered Rose. “ You are my own 
darling sister ; the one I love best in the whole world. 
Now, just stay quiet. I am going to nurse you. You 
will soon be yourself again.” 

The faintest of smiles dawned round Barbara’s lips. 

Rosamond knelt by her for a little longer. After 
a short time she rose to leave the room. She had just 
reached the door, when Barbara called after her with a 
piercing cry — 

“ Rose, don’t go away ; you have promised to save 
me — you will save me, won’t you ? You won’t let that 
dreadful book be published, you won’t ? Promise — 
promise me. Rose.” 

“ I don’t quite understand what I am to promise, 
darling.” 

“It is about my book — the book I wrote — the 
book for which I have sold my soul. Please don’t 
let it be published. Rose ; please promise. Go and 


Page Forty-eight Once Again. 265 

see Mr. Parkinson your own self. Oh, Rose, they 
will send me to prison if that book is ever published.” 

“ I will do what I can for you, Barbara ; you need 
not be frightened,” answered Rosamond in a very 
grave voice. “ Now stay quiet ; I shall be back in a 
moment.” 

She entered the sitting-room, where Hero was 
anxiously awaiting her. 

“ Barbara is very ill indeed,” said Rosamond. 
“ We must have a doctor immediately.” 

“ ril go and fetch one,” answered Hero. 

“ A good doctor, please,” continued Rosamond. 

“ ril ask the hall porter to recommend someone. 
I will bring a doctor back with me in less than half 
an hour.” 

Hero ran out of the sitting-room, and Rosamond 
returned to her sister s bedside. 

Barbara was again in a state of half-stupor, her 
eyes were closed, she took little or no notice of any- 
one. Rosamond seated herself near ; she hoped that 
Bab was going to sleep. Suddenly, however, she 
noticed that the big dark eyes were fixed upon hci 
face ; they were full of the most passionate despair. 

“ Rose,” cried Barbara — she sat up in bed, stretch- 
ing out her arms in a most imploring way to her 
sister — “if that book is published, I shall be sent 
to prison. Promise, Rose — promise you will save 
me. Miss Clarkson can do it. Miss Clarkson can 
send me to prison if my book is ever published.” 

These wild and, to Rosamond, most extraordinary 
words had scarcely left Barbara’s lips before a grave, 
elderly-looking man slowly opened the door of the 
bedroom and came in. He was the doctor whom 
Hero had summoned. He bent over the patient, 
examined her critically, and then called Rosamond 
into the next room. 


266 Merry Girls of England. 

“ Is that young girl your sister? ” he asked. 

“Yes,” replied Rosamond. 

“ She will require the greatest care.” 

“ I have come up to town on purpose to nurse 
her,” answered Rosamond. 

“ Y ou will probably want help ; she is, I fear, 
going to be ill for a long time, and it is very likely to 
be a serious case. I don’t see how you can manage 
alone. Now, I could have her admitted into a very 
nice hospital.” 

“ I should not hear of it,” answered Rosamond 
with sudden passion. “ I will nurse her myself day 
and night ; there is no fear that I shall break down. 
What do you expect will be the matter with her ? ” 

“The symptoms point to serious brain disorder, 
but I am sure of nothing at such an early stage. 
Anyhow, she is very ill. Of course, if you wish it, I 
will leave her in your hands for a day or so, and we 
will see how matters turn out. I will now write a pre- 
scription, and call again to see her in the evening.” 

When at a late hour that afternoon the doctor 
returned, he looked very grave indeed. Barbara was 
now quite delirious ; her wild words filled the entire 
flat. 

“ Rose, save me ; oh. Rose, save me ; don’t let Miss 
Clarkson see me. Dear, dear Rose, save me — save 
me ! ” 

The doctor again beckoned Rosamond to follow 
him out of the room. 

“ I feared this morning there was something 
weighing on your sister’s mind,” he said ; “ I am now 
certain of it. Who is Miss Clarkson ? ” 

“ I don’t know,” answered Rosamond ; “ I never 
heard of h^r before.” 

“ There is a Miss Clarkson whom all the world 
knows/’ said th? doctor in a meditative voice ; “ I 


t 


Page Forty-eight Once Again. 267 

refer to the well-known poet. Your sister cannot 
possibly mean her.” 

“Yes, she does,” said Hero, coming softly forward. 
“ She met Miss Clarkson at the house of a friend of 
ours a day or two ago, and I noticed at the time that 
she was very much upset. Miss Clarkson invited us 
both to spend to-day with her. Barbara did not wish 
to accept.” 

At this moment the high, delirious voice of the 
sick girl was heard, piercing the thin wall which 
divided the sitting-room from the little bedroom. 

“ Save me. Rose. Oh, Rose, save me. If Miss 
Clarkson knows, she will send me to prison.” 

“ Until we get to the bottom of this mystery, there 
will be no rest nor chance of recovery for the patient,” 
said the doctor. “ Suppose you, Miss ” 

“ Chevening,” said Hero, on whose face the medical 
man had fixed his eyes. 

“Very well, suppose you, Miss Chevening, go to 
see Miss Clarkson ?” 

“ That is a good thought,” said Hero. “ I know 
Miss Clarkson is very kind. I am quite certain, 
whatever is the matter, that Barbara has no real reason 
to be afraid of her. What reason could she have ” 

“There is no answering that question,” said the 
medical man, in a wise voice. “ My young patient 
has got something weighing very heavily on her 
mind, which principally accounts for the state of her 
health. Go at once. Miss Chevening, and see Miss 
Clarkson. She alone, it seems to me, has it in her 
power to relieve the mind of my patient.” 

The moment the doctor had left. Hero started 
for Eaton Square. She found Miss Clarkson at 
home, was admitted, and, a moment afterwards, the 
lady came into the room where the young girl was 
waiting for her. 


268 Merry Girls of England, 

“ My dear Hero Chevening,” she said, coming 
forward, with both her hands outstretched, “ I am 
glad to see you. Your note, received this morning, 
was a disappointment You said your young friend 
was ill ; what is the matter with her } ” 

She is very ill indeed,” said Hero, “ very ill.” 

“ Do you know, I am scarcely surprised. I 
thought, when I saw her the other day, that she 
looked unwell ; the shadows under her eyes were 
so heavy, and she appeared to be so nervous, so 
strained, so depressed.” 

“She has been in a very depressed, queer state 
for some time,” answered Hero, “and I think,” she 
added suddenly, “ that meeting you. Miss Clarkson, 
was the final straw. Certainly, since then she has 
been most unhappy. To-day we were obliged to 
send for a doctor, and he says she is very ill.” 

“ I am truly sorry ; I thought her a most 
interesting girl.” 

“ She is a splendid girl,” answered Hero ; “ but,” 
she added, “ at present I do not understand her.” 

“ You must be very anxious if you are all alone 
with her. Can I do anything to help ” 

“ I believe you could help very much, and I am 
coming to that. But I am not alone with Barbara, 
for her sister Rosamond came up from the country 
this morning.” 

“ Have you a good doctor ? ” 

“Dr. Jephson.” 

“ I know his name ; he is an excellent man.” 

“ He says that something is weighing on Barbara’s 
mind,” continued Hero, turning pale and then red. 
“Neither Rosamond nor I can make out what it is. 
She constantly mentions your name. Miss Clark- 
son.” 

“ My name ! ” exclaimed Miss Clarkson. “ What 


Fage Forty-eight Once Again, 269 

can you mean? Oh, I suppose the poor child is 
delirious. Does the doctor anticipate fever ? ” 

“ She is in fever at present ; he is very much 
afraid that it may turn to some bad brain trouble. 
He says there is no chance of her recovery until 
her mind is relieved. Neither Rosamond nor I can 
imagine what is the matter.” 

“ And you say that she mentions my name ? ” 
said Miss Clarkson. “But she scarcely knows me.” 

“ It is that fact which puzzles us both so 
dreadfully.” 

Miss Clarkson stood perfectly still ; she was in 
deep and anxious thought. 

Hero fixed her eyes on the lady’s grave face. 

“ I am frightened about Barbara,” exclaimed 
Hero. “ Oh, I wonder. Miss Clarkson, if you are 
really, really kind ! I fear — I don’t know what I 
fear — but suppose Barbara had done something 
wrong, something wrong to you ? Oh, I don’t know 
anything, remember ; but I fear, I fear dreadfully ! 
I wonder if, if such is the case, are you the kind of 
person who would forgive her ? ” 

“ Have I lived over fifty years in the world. Hero 
Chevening, and have I been full of shortcomings my- 
self, not to know how to forgive?” answered Miss 
Clarkson, in a gentle voice. “ Still,” she added, “ I 
am much puzzled — what can I possibly have to 
forgive in your poor little friend ? ” 

“ That is just what I can’t tell you. The doctor 
says there is something weighing on Barbara’s mind. 
Barbara is always calling out your name in most 
piteous accents. She says — yes, I must tell you 
everything — she says that you have it in your power 
to send her to prison. Oh, I am sure there is some- 
thing at the bottom of it ! You know, don’t you, 
that she is about to publish a book ? ” 


270 ]\lERRy Girls of England. 

“Yes, she told me so the other day. Of course, 
I think her far too young to attempt anything of the 
sort ; still, her prospects are brilliant.” 

“ It has been the one dream of Barbara’s life to 
bring out a book,” continued Hero ; “ but, now that 
it is coming out, she is dreadfully unhappy about it. 
She cries out passionately that it must not be pub- 
lished ; she says, if it is, you will be able to send her 
to prison.” 

“Oh, that is folly,” replied Miss Clarkson, in a 
sharp voice. 

She turned her back as she spoke, and went to 
the nearest window. The sun had already set, and 
there was a young moon in the heavens. The night 
was a very lovely one. Miss Clarkson looked up 
at what was visible of the sky from her window* 
As she did so, a memory flashed before her mind. 

“ Page forty-eight, which I never found, which I 
lost in such an extraordinary way,” she thought ; 
“page forty-eight.” 

She then came back and stood facing Hero. 

“ I will go and see your young friend,” she said. 

“ Barbara is very ill ; would it be the wisest 
thing to do?” 

“ It is the only thing to do,” answered Miss 
Clarkson gravely. “ I will go with you at once.” 

As she spoke, she rang the bell. 

“ Whistle for a hansom directly, Morris,” she said 
to the servant who answered her summons. 

A very short time afterwards Hero and Miss Clark- 
son arrived at Strawberry Mansions. They entered the 
little sitting-room. Rosamond was with her sister, whose 
high, excited voice could be heard all over the flat. 

“ Save me. Rose ! Oh, Rose, I wish I had never 
come to London ! I am punished now. Rose ! What 
shall I do ? ” 


Page Forty-eight Once Again. 271 

" Please go very softly into the bedroom/' whis- 
pered Miss Clarkson to Hero, “ and ask your friend 
Rosamond to come here.” 

Hero obeyed. 

Barbara was sitting up in bed, clasping her hands 
to her hot forehead. 

“ Is that you, Hero ? ” she cried out. “ I feel just 
as if my head were going to burst. Has Mr. Par- 
kinson published the book yet? Has a criticism 
appeared? Do they, do they know? Does all the 
world know? Have they — has all the world found 
out what I have done ? ” 

“ Of course the book is not published yet, Barbara,” 
answered Hero ; “ you know, it is not to appear for 
some days. Now do lie quiet; I am going to sit 
by you. Rosamond, will you go into the sitting- 
room ? ” 

Rosamond looked with wonder at ficro, tlien she 
rose to comply. In the next room she came face to 
face with Miss Clarkson, 

Miss Clarkson went straight up to her and took 
one of her hands in hers. 

“ I know all about you,” she said ; I am truly sorry 
for you. Light has broken in upon me with regard 
to your sister's illness. I think I can guess — at least, I 
can partly guess what is the matter. No, I am not 
going to tell you ; I hope that you may never know. 
If my surmises are correct, the thing that troubles 
your poor sister lies between her and me, and one 
other person. In order to make quite sure, and in 
order to relieve her mind, I want, however, to ask you 
a question. Are there any proofs of the book so soon 
to appear which you could let me read ? ” 

“ Proofs ? ” said Rosamond in a bewildered way ; 
" I saw a great many proofs lying on Barbara’s desk 
this morning.” 


2^2 Merry Girls or England. 

“ Pray let me look them over. I can tell you if 
my surmises are correct in a very short time.” 

Rosamond Innded the proofs to Miss Clarkson 
without another word. She watched her for a moment 
as she seated herself, untied the pile of loose papers, and 
began to read. Then she returned to the sick room. 

Barbara, exhausted now, had fallen into a heavy 
sleep ; she moaned incessantly, her temperature went 
steadily up and up. In her broken sleep she talked 
sometimes of the farm, sometimes of the old life at 
Miss Motley’s, but far oftener of her recent three 
months in London, of the British Museum, of Miss 
Clarkson, of Mr. Parkinson, of the book which was 
now such an agony to her mind. 

At the end of half an hour Rosamond returned to 
the sitting-room. She found Miss Clarkson standing, 
very pale and still, by one of the tables. 

“ I understand everything,” she said. “ I should 
like to see your sister ; is she awake ? ” 

“ She is in a heavy sleep at present,” answered 
Rosamond. “ Her temperature seems to get higher 
and higher.” 

“ Is Dr. Jephson going to call again ?” 

“ He said he would look in late.” 

“ Will you have the goodness to send for him 
immediately ? ” 

“ Is it necessary ? ” asked Rosamond. 

“ I want to see him. It is very necessary for me 
to see your sister, and yet I would rather have his 
authority before doing so.” 

Rosamond ran out of the room ; she sent a 
messenger to Dr. Jephson’s house. In twenty minutes 
the doctor stood in the little sitting-room. Miss 
Clarkson saw him alone. 

“ I understand what is troubling your patient,” she 
said at once. 


Page Forty-eight Once Again 27 ^ 

“Ah, I hoped you would,” answered the good 
doctor. “ She is very ill. Miss Clarkson ; she has a 
load on her mind.” 

“ She has ; I know what it is. I believe I can 
relieve her if you will allow me to see her for a few 
moments.” 

“ Your very name excites her,” replied the doctor ; 
« still ” 

“ Believe me, it will not excite her long. I am 
certain that I can give her the greatest possible 
relief.” 

“If that is so, she must see you at all risks,” said 
the doctor. He entered the sick room, returning in 
the course of a few moments. 

“ My patient is awake,” he said ; “ I have asked her 
sister and young friend to leave you alone with her. 
I will stay in this room until you return.” 

Without a word Miss Clarkson opened the door 
of the bedroom, and went in. 

Barbara was again sitting up in bed. She was 
looking anxiously towards the door. When she saw 
Miss Clarkson she turned white as death, her lips 
trembled, a faint, half-smothered shriek rose to her lips. 

Miss Clarkson instantly laid her hand on her arm. 

“ My dear child,” she said, “ you have nothing to 
be frightened about. I know everything. Now 
just listen to me. You took away page forty-eight 
of my manuscript, and, my dear, you were tempted, 
and you used it for the purposes of your own 
story. You are too ill for me to say a word of 
reproach to you now. God Himself has punished you, 
so do not expect me to punish you in any way. You 
don’t wish your book to be published? It had 
certainly better not be published yet. Some day, 
Barbara, you will write, and write well — some day 
when you are older. I have read a good deal of your 
R 


2/4 Merry Girls of England. 

book in proof ; and I can see that, quite apart from the 
idea that you have taken from me, you have talent of 
your own — talent which may become of value by-and- 
by. Now, Barbara, listen to me attentively ; please 
understand that I absolutely and completely forgive 
you. To-morrow morning, at an early hour, I will see 
Mr. Parkinson, and I will arrange matters with him. 
The book will not appear at present. Your sister and 
your friend need never know why it is not coming 
out ; only Mr. Parkinson, you, and I will be in the 
secret. And when you are well again, Barbara — which 
I hope you soon will be — you must consider me as 
your friend. You must come to see me, and I will 
help you ; I will do all in my power for you. Now 
kiss me ; I pity you and fully forgive you.” 

Miss Clarkson spoke so quietly, and yet with 
such strength, that Barbara’s very agitation was 
soothed. 

“Is it true, is it possible, that you know every- 
thing — that you know the very worst? You know 
that I am a thief — that I stole your great idea ? ” 
gasped the little girl. 

“ I know everything,” replied Miss Clarkson, 
“You were tempted, and you fell. Now, lie down 
and go to sleep ; no ill-consequences will follow.” 

As she spoke, Miss Clarkson bent over Barbara 
and kissed her. A moment later she had entered 
the sitting-room. 

“ I think, doctor,” she said, with something like 
tears in her fine eyes, “ that your patient’s mind is 
greatly relieved. I believe she will have a good 
night, and will soon drop asleep.” 

This happened to be the case. Before midnight 
Barbara’s temperature had gone down several de- 
grees ; the next morning she was much better, and 
the dreaded illness was averted. 


CHAPTER XXVIH. 

all’s well that ends well” 

Barbara quickly got better ; but about this time 
Hero noticed that Mrs. Jennings did not look at all 
well — that, notwithstanding her beautiful dress and 
her beautiful house, an anxious expression, which 
was certainly anything but good for her, sat con- 
stantly upon her brow. She did not eat her food as 
she used to ; she seemed to take little or no interest 
in anything ; often Hero caught her murmuring sad 
words half aloud. But she was by nature a very 
unselfish old lady ; and when “ her child,” as she 
called Piero, was in the room she always made a 
great effort to be cheerful. Hero’s very sympathetic 
nature, however, could not stand this for long. She 
must find out what was the matter. One afternoon 
she looked anxiously into the old eyes which held 
their secret so valiantly, and spoke. 

“ Mrs. Jennings,” she said, “ something is the 
matter with you. You are not what you were a 
fortnight ago.” 

“No, my darling ; life changes from day to day.” 

“Yes; but it is rather more than an ordinary 
change which ails you just now. You have told me 
more than once that 1 am like your child or your 
grandchild, and yet you will bear this trouble 
without telling me what it is. I don’t think it is 
kind of you.” 

“ I am thinking,” answered Mrs. Jennings slowly, 
“ of the Iriend who is coming so soon to see me. 
I have looked forward for months — nay, I may say 
R 2 


2/6 


Merry Girls of England. 


years — to his return ; and now the time has really 
arrived — we shall meet to-morrow.” 

“Of course, I have known for a long time that 
your friend was coming,” replied Hero. “ It was 
leally on his account we bought the dresses, and 
made the house look so smart, and you began to 
receive your old acquaintances again. But why 
should that make you unhappy } ” 

“ I will tell you something, Hero — something, but 
not all. Within the last few days I have made a 
very strange and, to me, a very terrible discovery. 
The man whom I am so soon to see again has always 
been much loved by me, but I never knew until the 
last few days what he had done for me and mine. 
Last week, in looking through some of my old 
belongings, I came across a letter which I ought to 
have received long ago. I opened it. It gave me 
information. That information is good for the living 
— yes, it is good for the living — but black, black 
for one who has passed away, and it hurts me to 
my heart’s core.” 

“ I am very sorry,” answered Hero. 

“ The strange thing is this,” continued Mrs. 
Jennings, “that you, Hero, ought to rejoice — nay, 
that by-and-by you will greatly rejoice — at the dis- 
covery which I have made. Although it makes me 
sad for myself, it makes me very proud for the man 
whom I am so soon to see again ; and it makes me 
love you, my darling, better than ever. Now, will 
you, please, promise not to be over-curious, and just 
do what I want ? ” 

“ I will certainly try to do that.” 

“ I wish you to leave London with me to-morrow 
morning.” 

“To leave London.?” repeated Hero, growing a 
little pale. “ But are you strong enough .? ” 


''All’s Well that Ends Well.” 277 

“Of course I am, child; nothing really ails me. 
I wish us both to go into the country to-morrow.” 

“ Are we to return the same day ? ” 

“That is scarcely likely, but I can say nothing 
positive. Our expedition, Hero, is a strange one ; 
and what the issue will be, God only knows ! If it 
is what I expect, your life at least will be completely 
altered, and — but I can say no more now. Give me 
a kiss, and do not ask questions.” 

“ Mrs. Jennings must have a terrible anxiety on 
her mind,” thought Hero to herself, “ for she has not 
once to-day spoken to the dogs. I wonder what can 
be wrong. Well, whatever it is, I mean to stick to 
her to the very end ; I don’t think there is anyone 
like her in the world.” 

The next day at an early hour Hero softly left 
the little flat in Strawberry Mansions. She hailed 
a hansom, and drove at once to Eaton Square. 

Mrs. Jennings was up and dressed. She seemed 
to have cast her anxiety behind her, for she looked 
at that moment as bright and graceful and old- 
picturey as ever a woman over eighty could manage 
to look. The weather was now sufficiently cold for 
her to wear some handsome furs which Hero had 
insisted on her purchasing ; and her snow-white thick 
hair, piled high above her aristocratic dark little face, 
suited her to perfection. 

A landau, with a pair of spirited horses, was 
standing at the door, and Hero and the old lady 
got in at once. They drove straight to Paddington, 
and there, to Hero’s astonishment and consternation, 
she heard Mrs. Jennings ask for tickets to Charlton. 

“But why are we going there.?” she 'whispered, 
turning pale as she spoke. 

“It is all right, dear; you will know presently,” 
replied Mrs. Jennings. 


2/8 Merry Girls of England, 

They travelled down to Charlton first-class, and 
reached that somewhat antiquated little town within 
a couple of hours. 

Here a tall, dark-eyed, somewhat elderly-looking 
man was waiting to receive them on the platform 
The moment he saw Mrs. Jennings he came im- 
pulsively forward, took off his hat, and, taking her 
hand, placed it on his arm. 

“ At last we meet,” he said, in a low tone. 

“ At last, Alexis,” she replied. 

She was trembling visibly now, and seemed to 
find it impossible to get out another word. Hero 
walked gravely by her side ; but the stranger’s face 
fascinated her, and caused her heart to beat in a very 
irregular manner. The next moment the colour 
flooded her cheeks, for the strange man’s dark eyes 
were fixed on her face with the queerest expression 
she had ever encountered. 

“ Yes, Alexis, this is Hero,” said Mrs. Jennings. 
“ I will explain everything when we get into the 
carriage. You have arranged for a carriage to meet 
us, have you not ? ” 

“ I have arranged everything,” he replied. 

And you received my letter safely ? ” 

“ I received your very astonishing letter, with the 
news which I never, never meant you to know.” 

“ Thank Heaven ! ” answered Mrs. Jennings, “ I was 
not permitted to go down to my grave without doing 
my utmost to repair that sin, without doing my little 
best to put that grave wrong right. Oh, Alexis, when 
I look at you, when I think of what you have suffered !” 

“ Never mind that now ; it is all over,” he replied. 

He drew her hand through his arm, smiled at 
Hero, and led them both to the carriage. 

Hero’s heart was beating more and more wildly ; 
she felt as if she were in a dream. Excitemen 


All's Well that Ends Well'' 279 

blazed in her pretty eyes ; a beautiful rose bloom 
mantled her cheeks. The moment the three entered 
the carriage, the coachman drove rapidly off. Hero, 
who was generally so outspoken, so brave, so little 
influenced by shyness, felt as if she were tongue-tied. 
She longed to ask where they were going, and who 
this queer, fascinating, unknown man was. Why did 
he look at her in that sort of greedy way, and why, 
above all things, did she feel unable to return his 
glance ? She felt suddenly afraid, as she had never yet 
felt afraid in the whole course of her life ; and yet her 
fear was mingled with a queer, wonderful sense of joy. 

They drove along familiar roads, but Hero never 
noticed them. Mrs. Jennings and the strange gentle- 
man sat facing the horses ; Hero occupied the little 
seat opposite. She wondered restlessly when the drive 
would come to an end. Mrs. J ennings scarcely spoke a 
word, but the stranger held her hand clasped in his. 

At last they stopped before high iron gates. A 
woman ran out, dropped a curtsey, and opened the 
gates wide. Then Hero found her voice again. She 
uttered a scream, half of excitement and half of pain. 

“Oh, Mrs. Jennings,” she said, “you are not 
taking me back to the Hall ? This is Chevening 
Hall. I did not think — I did not think you would 
be cruel enough to do that.” 

The terrible tension of the excited girl’s feelings 
was suddenly relieved, and she gave way to a burst 
of tears. 

“ I don’t wish to go back to the Hall again ! ” she 
gasped. “ I was miserable at the Hall ! ” 

A great lump rose in her throat. 

“ I cannot keep it to myself any longer, Mrs. 
Jennings,” said the stranger. “Hero, darling, you 
won’t be miserable at the Hall if I am there.” 

He put his arms round her. Without knowing 


2 So Merry Girls of England. 

how or why, slie found herself sobbing out her grief 
on his breast. 

“ But who are you } ” she said at last. “ I never saw 
anyone like you, I never felt to anyone as I feel to you. 
What is the matter with me ? Oh, I shall choke, unless 
someone tells me what all this means, and at once.” 

“ Poor child, poor child, you are all right now ; 1 
am your father. Hero — your long-lost father.” 

Then Hero glanced at Mrs. Jennings, and Mrs. 
Jennings smiled. 

“ I meant it to be a great surprise to you, darling,” 
she said. 

“ Give me a kiss of your own accord, Hero,” said 
her father. 

Hero raised her lips. Mr. Chevening pushed back 
the hair from her forehead. 

“ You really are my own child ; you are the image 
of your mother,” he said. 

“ But what does this mean ? ” said the little girl at 
last, speaking almost impatiently in her excitement. 
“ I am half stunned. So you are my father, and you 
are alive, and we are going back to the Hall. But oh, 
father, please don’t leave me alone with Grannie ever 
again.” 

“ You are my charge in future,” said the man. He 
spoke in a deep voice, with a tone of authority about it. 
When he uttered these words, every scrap of fear and 
sorrow left Hero’s heart ; it was exactly as if the sun 
had come out, and all the birds of heaven had begun 
to sing together. She could not help giving a glad 
little laugh in the excess of her emotion. As she did 
so, the carriage drew up abruptly at the bottom of the 
steps which led to the front entrance of the old house. 
Waking for them on the steps stood Mrs. Gunning 
and the old servant, Frances. 

Mr. Chevening immediately gave his arm to Mrs. 


All's Vvell that Ends Well'' 281 

Jennings, who leant on it, trembling a good deal, but 
his right hand was still locked within one of Hero’s. 

The three began to mount the steps. The 
moment they did so Frances dropped a curtsey, but 
Mrs. Gunning’s face looked pale and frightened. 
Neither of them seemed to have eyes or ears for any- 
one but the stranger. Mrs. Jennings herself did not 
make the slightest impression ; while as to Hero, her 
return seemed to be as commonplace, as everyday a 
matter, as if English girls were in the habit of running 
away from home and coming back again when it 
pleased them. The two women gazed at the tall, 
handsome stranger as if they would devour him. 

“ It is all right,” said Mrs. Gunning, speaking now 
to Mrs. Jennings ; “ I received your letter, and I have 
done exactly what you wished. If you walk straight 
into her room, she will not be able to refuse you 
admission. I do not know in the least what it will do 
to her ; it may kill her ; but, of course, it is no affair of 
mine ; you will please understand that; you will try 
to explain that presently, will you not 'i ” 

“ I perfectly understand. Gunning,” replied Mrs. 
Jennings in a haughty tone, which Hero had never 
heard her friend use before. “ Now,” continued the 
old lady, turning to Frances, “you will have the 
goodness to take us immediately to your mistress.” 

Frances started. 

“ I will do it, of course,” she said, “ although it is 
almost as much as my place is worth.” 

“ Well, don’t talk, but obey,” said Mrs. Jennings. 
“No more suspense, please ; we all wish to see Mrs. 
Chevening without a moment’s delay.” 

Frances turned to lead the way, and the little 
party followed her. They went down the long stone 
corridor which poor Rosamond had traversed with 
such mixed feelings on a certain day not very long 


282 Merry Girls of England. 

ago. They passed through the two outer rooms which 
led into the old lady’s sitting-room, and then the well- 
known curtain was pushed aside, and Hero found her- 
self once again face to face with her grandmother. 

To all appearance not a day had gone over Mrs. 
Chevening’s head. She was seated in the same arm- 
chair, she wore the same cap, the same dress. The 
same expression, somewhat hard, somewhat proud, a 
little bit troubled, if anyone had looked deep enough, 
still rested on her features ; she was very erect, as was 
her fashion, not dreaming of leaning back, but quietly 
going on with her knitting and glancing out of the 
window from time to time. 

When the door was slowly opened, and Mrs. 
Jennings, Hero, and her father entered the room, Mrs. 
Chevening turned her head very slowly. The first 
person her eyes lighted upon was Hero. The moment 
she looked at her, her whole face underwent a curious 
and somewhat intangible change ; it seemed as if a 
mask had fallen over it. Every scrap of feeling went 
out of it, the eyes became hard and cold, the 
tremulous, half sorrowful expression left the lips ; they 
shut tight in a hard, straight line. Mrs. Chevening 
was just about to speak, when her eyes roamed a little 
higher ; suddenly they rested on the grey hairs and 
much-lined face of a middle-aged man ; then she 
tottered to her feet, covered her face with her hands, 
and uttered a groan. 

“ No, Alexis ; this is too much, too much,” she 
gasped. “ Leave me, both of you — leave me ; I 
cannot, I can never speak to either of you again.” 

“You can, I hope, speak to both of them many 
times when you have listened to my story, Henrietta,” 
said Mrs. Jennings, coming boldly forward at that 
moment. 

“ Henrietta!” repeated Mrs. Chevening ; she threw 


“All’s Well that Ends Well!' 283 

her hands to her sides, a bewildered expression crossed 
her old face. 

“Who calls me by that name ? ” she said. “ Henri- 
etta ! I have not heard the sound for — for twenty years.” 

“Yes, you have; it is not so long ago as that,” 
answered Mrs. Jennings. “ Don’t you remember your 
old friend Letitia Jennings ? ” 

“ Letitia,” said Mrs. Chevening, “ Letitia, I did not 
even know you were alive.” 

“ Well, my dear, I am, both well and alive, a happy • 
woman in many ways, although I have known sorrow, 
and although I have a sorrowful task before me at the 
present moment. Now, Henrietta, whether you like 
it or not, you have got to listen to a brief story. You 
shut Alexis, your only son, out of your life. He has 
just returned to you after enduring the punishment 
which was due to another.” 

“To another?” repeated Mrs. Chevening, “the 
punishment which was due to another ? Ah no,” she 
added with a harsh laugh, “ it has sunk into my heart ; 
it has sunk too deep, I cannot be mistaken now ; he 
was punished for his own crime, the very first of his 
race who had fallen to dishonour.” 

“ Mother ! ” cried the stern man in the background 
He came a step forward, and then stood still. 

“ I cannot help it, Alexis ; I am a proud woman, 
and it is impossible for me to forgive you. I could 
have forgiven anything else ; but thRtjycfU should have 
forged a cheque, that jyou should have had to go to 
prison for your sin, that jw should have gone through 
penal servitude, that one of my very own house 
should have been so terribly disgraced ! No, Alexis, I 
cannot speak to you, I cannot forgive you. You have no 
right to force your way into my presence, and to shelter 
yourself, too, behind a woman. I can only say that it is 
like you — yes, it is like what I might have expected.” 


284 


Merry Girls of England. 


“Then let me tell you, grandmother,” suddenly 
cried Hero, unable to restrain herself a moment 
longer, “that every word you are saying is untrue 
from beginning to end. This man, this man here is 
my father; look him in the face. Grannie. Do you 
think he could be cowardly with that look } Gaze at 
him well. Grannie ; see for yourself that you have 
made a big mistake.” 

“ Hero, I shall turn you out of the room if you say 
another word,” said the angry old lady. “ You are 
no grandchild of mine ; you followed in your father’s 
steps ; like father, like daughter.” 

“Yes, like father, like daughter,” repeated Mrs. 
Jennings, “very like, very like indeed. Henrietta, I 
have something most painful to tell you as far as I 
personally am concerned. If you will cast your 
memory back a little, you will remember that I, too, 
was the mother of a son.” 

“Yes, I recall old times,” said Mrs. Chevening. 
“ You must excuse me, Letitia, but this has upset me a 
good deal ; I must sit down, for I can stand no longer.” 

The old lady seated herself ; there was a blazing 
spot of colour on each cheek ; her eyes, cold still in 
expression, began to shine with a queer excited light. 
Mrs. Jennings also took a chair, which .she occupied 
with great dignity. 

“Henrietta,” .she began, “we are both of us over 
eighty years of age. Before long we shall be called 
away to our long account to answer to God Almighty 
for our own sins, our own shortcomings. It is our 
duty to forgive, as we hope in all due time to be for- 
given ourselves.” 

“ Don’t talk to me of forgiveness,” said Mrs. 
Chevening. 

“Please let me proceed,” answered Mrs. Jennings. 
“In this case, my old friend, you have not to forgive 


All's Well that Ends Well," 285 

your son — your noble son — for he was innocent ; he 
bore the punishment of another. He did what he did 
to shield another. Arthur, my boy, my one only 
child, was the person who committed the forgery. He 
was weak ; I knew that he was weak and easily led, 
but I never, never guessed that he would stoop to 
that. Still, it is true ; he confessed it himself ; I only 
found out the truth a fortnight ago.” 

“ What do you mean ? ” said Mrs. Chevening. 
Her words came out very slowly and distinctly now. 
“ Letitia, what do you mean ? ” 

“ I mean exactly what I say. My boy is in his 
grave. He has been in his grave for the last ten 
years ; he was tempted, but before he died he left a 
full confession of his sin behind him. Through an 
extraordinary mistake which I cannot account for, 
that letter never reached me until a fortnight ago. I 
was very ill at the time of his death, and refused to 
look into anything. I would receive no messages, I 
would consult with no friends ; ’I was frantic at the 
loss of my boy — he was the one sunshine of my life. 
I did not know, I could not guess that he was so 
faulty, so frail, so sinful. His letter was put away 
into a secret drawer with many other relics of the 
past, and it only got into my hands, as I said just now, 
a fortnight ago. But Alexis here knew all about it 
from the first. The two boys were together. The 
crime, through a chain of circumstantial evidence 
which we need not go into now, was brought home to 
Alexis, who could only clear himself by inculpating 
my son. He knew Arthur’s weakness, and he made 
up his mind that if Arthur would not confess, he 
would bear the punishment for him. Surely he was 
noble, noble as few are. My unhappy, unhappy boy 
has been long in his grave. Will it not be possible 
for you to forgive the dead ? ” 


286 Merry Girls of England. 

“Have you your son’s letter here?” asked Mrs. 
Chevening. 

“ Yes, I brought it down with me ; you can read 
it now if you like.” 

“ I won’t read it ; I have something else to do 
first. Alexis, my son, come here.” 

Mr. Chevening came forward ; he dropped on 
one knee by his mother’s side. 

“ Let us talk no more about it, mother,” he said ; 
“ my punishment is all over ; it is an old, old story 
now. I never meant Mrs. Jennings to find out. 
Some day I will tell you all the circumstances. You 
will see, mother, that I could not have acted otherwise.” 

“You could not have acted otherwise ? ” repeated 
Mrs. Chevening. 

“No, mother; not under the circumstances. 
Noblesse oblige^ you know.” 

“ And you thought it worth while to break your 
young wife’s heart — to break my heart — to nearly 
ruin your child ? ” 

“ Say no more about it ; the past is past. Let 
us bury it. I have come back to you ; receive me as 
your son at last.” 

Mrs. Chevening bent suddenly forward. 

“ I am a weak, sinful old woman,” she said, in a 
strained voice, which no one had ever heard her use 
before. “ Kiss me, Alexis ; it is you who have to 
forgive me. My heart of adamant seems broken. 
Hero, child, you can come back to me ; kiss me, I 
am your grandmother.” 

***** 

A week later a merry party of girls met at The 
Gables. Barbara Underhill was at home once more. 
The flat in Strawberry Mansions had been given up, 
and the furniture sold. There were few traces now 
about Barbara of her recent severe illness. The 


“All's Well that Ends Well." 287 

cloud which had so oppressed her spirit was lifted ; 
her voice on the present occasion was the lightest, her 
laughter the most contagious of any of the four girls. 

It was October, but the day was a specially fine 
one, and the four were in the little garden, waiting for 
Hero, who presently rushed in at the wicket gate in 
a state of wild excitement. 

“ Here I am,’’ she cried ; “ but really I had almost 
as much difficulty as I had months ago to get away. 
Grannie will scarcely let me out of her sight. I just 
begged for half an hour, for I felt I must come to 
welcome Barbara home again. Oh, Babs, you cannot 
imagine how lovely it is at the Hall, now that 
father has come back — everything is completely 
altered. Mrs. Gunning is put into her right place, 
a great many new servants have come, and part of 
the house is to be refurnished ; and Grannie walks 
about with father, and leans on him, and chats with 
him, and laughs. And if it were not for dear, dear 
Mrs. Jennings, I don’t think I should have a single 
care in the world.” 

“ But what about her ? The whole thing is dread- 
ful, is it not ? ” said Rosamond. 

“Yes, it is ; but she is so noble herself, and she 
bears up so bravely. Grannie wants her to come to 
the Hall to live, but I don’t think she will, although 
I have quite made up my mind to spend at least 
half the year with her, for, next to father and Grannie, 
I love her best in the world. I consider her the 
dearest and sweetest old lady in England.” 

“ What a dreadful man that son of hers must 
have been ! ” said Rosamond. 

“ He was really more weak than bad. Father 
told me the whole story one night. I will tell it to 
you girls some day. Oh, how proud I am of father ! 
Even though he has been in prison, and has gone 


288 


Merry Girls of England. 


through penal servitude, I think him quite the 
greatest man in the world. Yes, I am a truly happy 
girl to-day. How nice everything is ! How sweet 
your home is too ! Barbara, you won’t regret Straw- 
berry Mansions, now that you have returned to this 
dear little place.” 

“ I never want to think of that dreadful time,” 
replied Barbara, in a low tone ; then she added, 
linking her hand through Hero’s art', as she spoke, 
“ This morning. Hero, I had a long letter from Miss 
Clarkson. She wants me to go and stay with her 
the next time she is in town. She and Mr. Parkinson 
have behaved so well about that wretched book — ohj 
how thankful I am it was not published ! ” 

“Some day, Barbara, you will write a really 
noble book.” 

“ When I am worthy, which I am not at present,” 
replied Barbara, with humility new to her. “ Hero, 
I have made up my mind, I am just going to be a 
farm-girl for the next two or three years. 1 tried to 
stand on my own feet, and failed miserably ; but now 
it is all right.” 

“ All right. Everything is all right,” said Clem- 
entcy, dancing up at that moment ; “ oh, do come to 
tea, girls — it is ready. For my part,” added Clementcy, 
“ I don’t believe there ever was such a merry, happy, 
happy life as ours.” 


THE END. 


'I^>rKINTED BY CaSSELL & COMPANY, LIMITED, La BelLE SaUVAGE, LONDON, E.O. 











I 



‘ ( 




1 


I 


# 


« 


I 


'i 

>1 

i 

« 

\ 








y M I 






•St < 










ft ? I 


! .r- 




trx 


c V. 




I ^ 

:i 




w?! 


1^. 




I 




^,-.. 


"Vi ♦» “ ' V- ■ 




V^'', ' ‘''■W/ 


r 


h*' 


I t |4. 


‘ V' 


1 • 




j'f^' 


«■ - 


// 


4 


4 J 


.« - J 








« ’ I 


% 


K 


t]' 




« ai 


‘-t 




b* 


Ir 5 


/.' . < * 


( * 


.% ■."* 


i • t 




. > 




-! ^ r '.^4- 

H‘* 

s^g 

>a 


'i.W 


iv 


tfc a. 1 

>f > 


O' ^ 


i- 


• I 


ii 


y 








.V 


• » vr ' « 






«» 












W* r 






.4' 


-':/V. 


/• ,. 


3» t) f 


. • j- 


V • 


Ut 


I 


iV« 




I / 


^ l»ii 


Jf‘. 






i 


j\ 


xr 


> s 


1 - "■♦ 
r.iJi'V' 

4 » * 


M 


.-1 


P 




'A 




¥:i 


cfi •'' 




.iiVv 


f-i:£ 








't 






>%*» 




WiV . ' s - A . 


(fk 






L 


^ t » 


t 4 « U»j 




if 


4 < 


^ •*/ 


{.- 


4 V f 




iV ^ 


' ' %'( 


It 


•* < 




fe'l 1 

rr 


-A 


t' 


f.4 


i. . > 


J '•« 


^ 4 




Jt'!' 


\ « 








Y * 


I* ^ 


r*j 




.0 




5 


I ^ fi 


tA 


i . <* 


? 


9 


e, 


I i. 




.*« 


.'. ■•< '1' 


■ <yk ■ ■:■ 


«i 

4 i« 

'■ .;'vV : 

.,'.M><v,; 




>. < 


.• VI »*,; 






rib 


m 


k*'‘ .MKVJibfc'k' ■ ?, 1 ■.■4: A • 


ftn-a" 4 :- 

''-%d 


?''' . • ‘ ii • "'w 

Lv ' . . . V.' 


. . VI -i;* 

.,V V'/ 4 'K 

• ’■uUI, ^■-“.’* 




> 


:f 


iij 


:y* 


/* 


fS > ^ » 




.1,^ 


% 


.., ■ W'"'' 




' 'ii/' .*- , 


1 ‘ f 




\ A 


B. 7 




) « 




-'t !» »J »' 


'I 


M.mm2 




k I 












